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DEVOUT 
EXERCISES  OF  THE  HEART 

IN   MEDITATION    AND    SOLILOqUY, 

PRAYER   AND   PRAISE, 
By  the  late  pious  and  ingenious 

MRS,  ELIZABETH  ROWE. 

REVIEWED  AND  PUBLISHED  AT  HER  RE^UEST^ 

BY  I.  WATTS,  D.  D. 


Johnson's  edition, 


PHILADELPHIA : 

PUBLISHED  BY  ROBERT  JOHNSON^ 

NO.  2,  NORTH  THIRDS 

STREET. 

1806. 


JwTt 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 
LIFE  of  Mrs.  Rowe,  3 

Letter  to  an  intimate  Friend  of  Mrs.  Rowe,  43 

Preface,  45 

Letter  from  the  Author  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Watts,  54 


I.     Supreme  Love  to  God,  56 

II      The  Triuh  and  Goodness  of  God,  59 

III.  L'  nging  afttr  the  Enjoyment  of  God,  61 

IV.  G(>d  my  Supreme,  my  only  Hope,  64 

V.  God  a  present  Hel]),  and  ever  near-,  67 

VI.  God  an  ail-sufficient  Good,  and  my  only  Happiness,  69 
VII      A  Covenant  with  God,  72 

VIII.  Thank-ofiering  for  saving  Grace,  74 

IX.  Evidence  of  sincere  Love  to  God,  77 

X.  Assurance  of  Salvation  in  Christ  Jesus,  80 
XL  Thou  art  my  G'd,  83 
XH.  Confession  of  Sin,  with  Hope  of  Pardon,  86 
XIH.  The  Absence  of  God  on  Earth,  90 
XiV.     Banishment  from.  G-d  for  ever,  92 

XV.  Tlitigpiory  of  God,  in  his  V/orks  of  Creation,  Pro- 

vidence, and  Redemption,  95 

XVI.  Longing  f  r  vhe  coming  of  Clirist,  97 

XVII.  Seeking  after  an  absent  G'  d,  99 

XVIII.  Appeals  to   God  concernmg  the  Supremacy  of 

Love  to  Him,  102 

XIX.  A  dcv.  ui  Rapture  ;  or,  Love  to  G  .d  inexpressible,  104 

XX.  Self- i:^/pror.f  tor  Inactivitv,  UO 

XXI.  >    A  jo"\fiii  View  of  appr-  :  -^.ing  Dearh,  112 

XX II.  A   Devour   Resignation   of  Self  to  the   Divine 

Power  and  Gocdness,  115 

XXm.     Redeeming  Love,  113 

y.XiV.     Plead.iigi.Mr  Pardon  and  Holinef^s,  120 

XX  v^  A  TranspM-t  ot  Gratinide  for  s.;ving  Mercy,  125 
XXVL     Imponunate  Requests  for  the   Return  ot   God  to 

the  S-;ul,  126 

XXVJL     Breathing  af.er  God,  and  weary  of  the  World,  132 

XXViil.      A  Praver  for  speedy  Savcnncation,  137 

XXiX.     Gratiiude  f  ;r  early  uud  pecu!  ar  Favour,  140 

XXX.     Aspiring  afttr  th^  Vision  of  God  ia  Heaven,  142 


CONTENTS. 

Page, 
XXXL     A  Surrender  of  the  Soul  to  God,  144 

XX XII.  Trust  and  Reliance  on  the  Divine  Promise,  ihid 

XXX III.  Application  to  Divine  Truth,  147 

XXXIV.  Glory  to  God,  for  Salvation  by  Jesus  and  his 

Blood,  152 

XXXV.  A  Review  of  Divine  Mercy  and  Faithfulness,      154 

XXXVI.  Dail)'  lixperience  of  the  kind  Providence  of 

God,  and  Pious  Breathings  of  the  Soul  to- 
"Vfards  the  heavenl/  World,  153 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 


ELIZABETH  ROWE,  a  character  a^ 
much  revered  for  the  excellency  of  her  mind  as 
admired  for  the  sublimity  of  her  genius,  was 
born  at  Ilchester^  in  the  county  of  Somerset, 
September  11,  1674.  Her  parents  were  eminent 
for  their  piety  and  virtue,  as  well  as  their  attach- 
ment to  the  cause  of '^  religion  ;  her  father,  Mr. 
Walter  Singer,  having  suffered  imprisonment 
pursuant  to  an  act  passed  against  non-conform- 
ists, in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  But  though 
firm  in  the  profession  of  his  religious  principles, 
he  had  those  exalted  ideas  of  the  attributes  of 
the  Deity,  v/hich  are  incompatible  with  a  rooted 
bigotry  and  gloomy  sullenness  ;'nor  could  he  sub- 
scribe to  the  opinions  of  these  who  would  limit 
the  bounds  of  the  divine  mercy  and  goodness, 
which  he  was  v/ell  assured  were  extended  to  the 
whole  creation,  and  therefore  nothing  could  ex- 
clude rational  beings  from  it,  but  an  obstinate 
resistance  of  the  means  appointed  for  their  pre- 
sent and  future  happiness.  As  a  member  of  so- 
ciety he  was  esteemed  for  his  integrity,  benevo- 
lence, and  simplicity  of  manners,  and  honoured 
with  the  friendship  of  Lord  Weymouth,  and  Bi- 
shop Kenn,  who  at  that  time  were  no  less  re- 
spected for  their  virtues,  than  the  superiority  of 
their  rank  in  life.  But  let  it  suffice  to  sum  up 
the  character  of  this  good  man  in  the  elegant 
description  of  his  daughter,  in  one  of  her  fami- 
liar  letters  to  a  friend. 

'  I  have  ease  and  plenty  to  the  extent  of  my 
wishes,  and  cannot  form  desires  of  any  thing  but 


4  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

what  my  father's  indulgence  would  procure ; 
and  I  ask  nothing  of  heaven  but  the  good  old 
man's  life.  The  perfect  sanctity  of  his  life,  and 
the  benevolence  of  his  temper,  make  him  a  re- 
fuge to  all  in  distress,  to  the  widow  and  father- 
less. The  people  load  him  with  blessings  and 
prayers  whenever  he  goes  abroad ;  which  he  ne- 
ver does  but  to  reconcile  his  neighbours,  or  to 
right  the  injured  and  oppressed  ;  the  rest  of  his 
hours  are  entirely  devoted  to  his  private  devo- 
tions, and  to  books  which  are  his  perpetual  en- 
tertainment,' 

As  he  lived  in  uniform  obedience  to  the  divine 
commands,  so  he  died  in  perfect  resignation  to 
the  divine  will,  a  striking  instance  of  the  power 
of  religion,  and  the  exalted  state  of  the  human 
mind,  when  supported  by  the  consciousness  of 
the  favour  of  the  Almighty,  and  the  animating 
prospect  of  a  life  of  immortal  bliss.  The  calm- 
ness and  resignation  which  this  good  man  evinced 
in  his  expiring  moments,  had  such  an  effect  upon 
the  mind  of  one  of  the  free-thinkers  of  the  age 
who  was  present,  that  he  was  ready  to  say  as  the 
Roman  Governor  did  when  wrought  upon  by  the 
oratory  of  the  Apostle  Paul ;  ^  Almost  thou 
persuadest  me  to  be  a  christian.'  And  the  sup- 
posed confession  of  an  infidel  on  a  like  occasion, 
suggested  to  Mrs.  Rowe  the  following  observa- 
tion :  '  That  though  he  thought  religion  a  delu- 
sion, yet  it  was  the  most  agreeable  delusion  in 
the  world  ;  and  the  men  who  flattered  them- 
selves with  those  gay  visions,  had  much  the  ad- 
vantage of  those  that  saw  nothing  before  them 
but  a  gloomy  imcertainty,  or  the  dreadful  hope 
of  annihilation.'  The  inference  drawn  from 
these  premises  is  ;  that  this  confession,  if  the  in- 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  ^ 

fidel  be  true  to  himself,  must  terminate  in  his 
conversion  to  Christianity.    ;i^ 

Mrs.  Rowe  had  two  sisters,  one  of  whom  died 
in  her  infancy,  the  other  attained  her  twentieth 
year ;  the  companion  of  her  sister  in  the  path 
of  honour  and  virtue.  Their  minds^were  conge- 
nial, their  inclination  for  reading  similar,  and 
particularly  books  on  medicinal  subjects,  of  which 
they  acquired  so  competent  a  knowledge,  as  ena- 
bled them  to  dispense  the  benefits  of  the  healing- 
art  to  their  indigent^  neighbours,  who  admired 
their  ingenuity  and  extolled  their  liberality. 
Prompted  by  a  laudable  ambition,  they  were  in- 
defatigable in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and 
their  reciprocal  communication  tended  to  their 
mutual  improvement,  and  if  the  life  of  both  had 
been  spared,  would  have  greatly  enlivened  their 
attainments.  But  as  earthly  blessings  are  seldom 
permanent  cr  without  alloy  ;  the  tv/o  lovely  sis- 
ters were  separated  by  death !  one  exalted  spirit 
soared  to  the  regions  of  bliss  ;  the  other  was 
permitted  to  protract  her  abode  here  below, 
where  she  continued  many  years  In  the  exercise 
of  the  noblest  v/orks  of  piety  towards  God  and 
humanity  towards  mankind. 

Mrs.  Rowe  in  her  infant  years  gave  proofs  of 
a  strength  of  mind  and  inclination  to  virtue, 
rarely  to  be  found  in  the  dawn  of  life,  and  which 
must  have  afforded  her  pious  and  w^ell-disposed 
parents  an  highly  gratifying  prospect  of  her  fu- 
ture excellence,  in  all  the  endowments  and  quali- 
fications that  could  adorn  her  sex,  and  render  her 
an  ornament  to  human  nature. 

It  IS  not  known  at  what  particular  age  she  be- 
gan to  entertain  serious  thoughts  of  the  nature 
and  necessity  of  Religion  ;  though  it  is  re?po.> 

A  2 


6  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

able  to  think  it  was  as  early  in  life,  as  she  can  be 
supposed  capable  of  forming  distinct  ideas  of  the 
reverence  and  duty  she  owed  her  Creator,  which 
improved  with  her  growing  years,  till  her  piety 
and  virtue  attained  to  that  degree  of  eminence, 
which  rendered  her  the  admiration  and  delight 
of  the  whole  circle  of  her  acquaintance.  This 
opinion  is  confirmed  in  one  of  her  own  addresses 
to  the  divine  Being,  in  which  she  has  these 
words  :  '  My  infant  hands  were  early  lifted  up 
to  thee,  and  I  soon  learned  to  know  and  acknow- 
ledge the  God  of  my  fathers.'  Her  serious  turn 
of  mind  was  doubtless  the  result  of  a  religious 
education  improved  and  enforced  by  her  natural 
disposition  ;  for  though  she  possessed  an  uncom- 
mon sprightliness  of  temper,  she  entertained 
such  a  reverential  awe  for  the  Divine  Majesty,  as 
fully  disposed  her  for  the  performance  of  the- 
most  solemn  act  of  devotion.  Some  persons, 
from  passages  that  occur  in  her  Devout  Exer- 
cises, have  been  induced  to  think  that  the  liveli- 
ness of  her  disposition  might  interrupt  her  de- 
votion, as  she  complains  of  her  want  of  due  fer- 
vour ;  but  this  language  must  be  attributed  to  her 
great  humility ;  under  a  sense  of  the  imperfec- 
tion of  the  best  religious  duties  of  which  the 
most  shining  professors,  as  fallen  creatures,  can 
be  capable  ;  since  after  they  have  exerted  their 
utmost  efforts  in  promoting  the  cause  of  their 
Divine  Master,  they  are  still  but  unprofitable 
servants. 

As  painting  and  poetry  have  ever  been  deem- 
ed sister  arts,  from  the  resemblance  they  bear  to 
each  other  ;  originating  in  the  power  of  im.agina- 
tlon,  and  centering  in  a  picturesque  description 
of  nature  ;  it  is  no  matter  of  wonder  that  those 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

who  in  early  life  discover  an  inclination  for  the 
one,  should  in  the  course  of  time  have  a  taste 
for  the  other,  and  be  qualified  to  judge  of  its 
beauties,  though  they  have  not  produced  any  spe- 
cimens of  their  skill  in  its  execution. 

Mrs.  Rowe  discovering  an  inclination  to  paint- 
ing, when  she  had  hardly  strength  and  steadiness 
of  hand  to  guide  the  pencil ;  her  indulgent  fa- 
ther observing  her  propensity  to  the  art,  employ- 
ed a  master  to  instruct  her,  and  she  acquired 
such  a  knowledge  of  it,  as  to  render  it  a  source 
of  occasional  entertainment  during  the  whole 
course  of  her  life.  An  ingenious  acquaintance 
of  this  accomplished  person  observes,  that  '  pro- 
bably she  cultivated  ti>e  art,  as  it  afforded  her  op- 
portunities of  gratifying  her  friends  with  pre- 
sents of  her  best  productions  ;  for  she  kept  very 
few  of  them  herself,  and  those  only  sucb  as  she 
judged  unworthy  the  acceptance  of  others.' 

It  must  appear  to  every  one  acquainted  with 
her  literary  productions,  that  she  was  naturally 
inclined  to  harmon}^,  and  most  delighted  with 
music  of  the  grave  and  solemn  kind,  as  best 
adapted  to  the  sublimity  of  her  ideas,  and  the 
elevated  sentiments  of  devotion  she  entertained 
for  the  greatest  and  best  of  Beings. 

But  though  she  discovered  in  many  instances 
an  inclination  to  painting  and  music  ;  poetry  had 
the  ascendency  in  her  mind,  and  was  the  favour- 
ite and  most  constant  object  of  her  pursuit.  In 
this  art  she  acquired  a  degree  of  eminence  in 
early  life,  and  such  was  the  force  of  her  genius 
for  poeticatdisplay,  that  it  pervaded  her  prosaic 
compositions,  which  are  fraught  with  a  ]  the 
beautiful  images,  bold  figures,  and  flowery  dic-^ 
tion  that  enforce  and  adorn  her  productions  in 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROVVE. 

verse,  as  v/ill  be  evident  from  perusing  her  fa- 
xniliar  letters,  which  bear  the  stamp  of  an  inspir- 
ing muse.  She  began  indeed  to  evince  her  pro- 
pensity for  versification  as  soon  as  she  was  capa- 
ble of  writing;  and  in  the  year  1696,  v/hen  she 
had  attained  to  the  twenty-second  of  her  age, 
published,  at  the  desire  of  two  literary  friends, 
a  collection  of  poems  on  various  occasions,  which 
there  is  ground  to  suppose  did  not  comprise  the 
vvhole  of  her  productions,  as  the  writer  of  the 
preface  intimates  that  the  author  might  after- 
wards be  prevailed  on  to  oblige  vhe  world  with 
a  second  part  in  no  respect  inferior  to  the  for- 
mer. 

She  assumed  the  poetical  name  of  Philornela, 
[the  nightingale]  under  which  her  productions 
were  ushered  into  the  v/orld  ;  whether  by  her 
own  choice,  or  at  the  instance  of  her  friends,  as 
a  compliment  to  her  merit,  cannot  be  ascertained. 
From  her  known  modesty  the  latter  seems  most 
probable  ;  and  that  desiring  her  name  might  be 
concealed,  the  appellation  of  Philomtla  was  sub-- 
stituted  for  it,  as  happily  allusive  to  the  melliflu- 
ous strains  of  her  poetry,  which  bear  a  resem- 
blance to  the  plaintive  notes  of  the  nightingale, 
according  to  the  description  of  the  great  Milton. 

Sweet  bird  that  sliunn'st  the  noise  of  folly, 
Most  musical,  most  melancholy 

At  the  age  of  twenty,  her  poetical  talents  at- 
tracted the  notice  of  the  noble  family  of  Thynne, 
which  resided  at  Longleat.  They  were  so  charm- 
ed with  a  little  copy  of  her  verses  which  acci- 
dentally fell  into  their  hands^  that  they  had  the 
greatest  desire  to  see  the  fair  author,  and  there- 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  9 

fore  sent  her  a  most  polite  and  pressing  invita- 
tion to  their  vilhu  The  invitation  according  to 
the  forms  of  good  breeding,  was  accepted  by 
the  young  lady,  and  from  thut  moment  a  friend- 
ship commenced  that  terminated  but  with  life  : 
a  friendship  that  redounded  not  more  to  the  ho- 
nour of  our  female  bard,  in  being  admitted  to  a 
familiarity  with  persons  of  rank  so  superior  in 
the  outward  distinctions  of  life  ;  than  to  the  com- 
mendation of  an  elegant  taste,  and  discriminat- 
ing judgment,  in  the  noble  personages,  who  were 
thus  liberally  disposed  to  afford  their  sanction  to 
such  promising  talents.  So  highly  did  the  family 
esteem  the  accomplishments  of  their  visitant, 
that  to  add  to  their  splendour,  the  honourable 
Mr.  Thynne,  son  to  the  Lord  Viscount  Wey- 
mouth, voluntarily  undertook  to  instruct  her  in 
the  French  and  Italian  languages  ;  and  so  rapid 
was  the  progress  of  his  fair  scholar,  that  she  was 
but  a  few  months  under  his  tuition,  before  she 
was  able  to  read  Tasso's  Jerusalem  with  equal 
facilit}  and  propriety. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  such  an  union  of 
accomplishments,  mental  and  personal,  should 
procure  the  possessor  a  train  of  humble  and  im- 
portunate suitors.  Amongst  these  it  is  said  was 
the  much-admired  bard  Matthew  Prior,  who  of- 
fered to  take  her  as  partner  for  life.  If  this  cir- 
cumstance is  kept  in  view  during  the  perusal  of 
Prior's  Poems,  it  will  appear,  that  allowing  the 
author  to  be  under  the  influence  of  love  as  well 
as  the  muse,  the  concluding  lines  in  his  answer  to 
the  pastoral  in  Love  and  Friendship,  by  Miss 
Singer,  are  not  without  foundation  in  truth,  and 
that  she  was  the  nameless  lady  to  whom' the  same 


10  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

author  inscribes  the  following  copy  of  verses.* 
But  Mn  Thomas  Rowe  was  the  man  reserved 
to  enjoy  with  this  accomplished  woman  the  reci- 
procal pleasures  of  connubial  bliss. 

Mr.  Thomas  Rowe  was  born  in  London,  in 
the  year  1687;  he  was  the  eldest  son  of  the 
Rev.  Benoni  Rowe,  a  divine  of  profound  learn- 
ing and  sound  judgment,  much  admired  for  his 
powers  of  eloquence  in  the  pulpit,  and  respected 
for  his  engaging  manner  in  social  converse.  T  he 
husband  of  our  author  had  to  boast  an  honoura- 
ble descent ;  but  as  he  rested  his  fame  on  per- 
sonal merit,  and  disdained  to  shine  by  a  borrow* 
cd  light,  he  declined  any  honours  he  might  have 
derived  from  his  ancestry,  ^as  incompatible  with 
that  true  dignity  which  cemres  alone  in  virtue. 
He  gave  proofs  of  extraordinary  abilities  and  a 
peculiar  desire  after  rm.pixiY^^i|ient  at  a  very  early 
period  of  life,  being  able  to  read  as  soon  almost 
as  he  could  speak.  Disdaining  those  trivial 
amusements  and  tinsel  gewgaws  to  which  chil- 
dren in  general  are  attached,  his  mind  was  prin* 
cipally  intent  on  books,  and  if  he  was  occasionally 
prevailed  upon  by  the  solicitations  of  his  com- 
panions to  join  in  their  puerile  diversions,  he 
discovered  rather  disgust  than  pleasure  in  the 
pursuit  of  them,  and  was  anxious  to  abandon 
them  and  return  to  the  nobler  employment  of 
acquiring  knowledge. 

He  was  initiated  in  classical  learning  at  Epsom, 
and  by  his  assiduous  application  made  such  a 
profi^'iency  in  that  branch  of  education,  as  gained 
him  the  peculiar  favour  of  his  master,  and  re- 

*  See  Prior's  Poems,  in  Cooke's  British  Poets,  which 
form  a  part  of  his  Uniform  Pocket  Library. 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  11 

«pect  of  his  school-feilows  ;  which  he  considered 
as  the  most  gratifying  reward  that  could  possibly 
result  from  all  the  efforts  he  had  exerted  to  ob- 
tain it.  He  was  afterwards  sent  to  the  Charter- 
house-school, and  put  under  the  tuition  of  Doc- 
tor Walker,  a  divine,  eminent  for  his  own  learn- 
ing, and  the  number  of  excellent  classical 
scholars,  who  received  their  education  from 
him  in  that  ancient  nursery  of  polite  learning. 
Rowc  acquired  the  same  degree  of  superiority 
over  his  school-fellows  at  the  Charter-house  as 
he  had  done  at  Epsoni,  insomuch  that  the  Doc- 
tor, after  he  had  finished  his  classical  studies, 
and  was  a  master  of  the  Latin,  Greek  and  He- 
brew languages,  persuaded  his  father  to  send 
him  to  one  of  the  English  Universities.  But 
Mr.  Rowe,  whether  from  the  influence  of  his 
own  political  or  religious  opinions,  or  any  other 
prevailing  motive  cannot  be  determined,  chose 
rather  to  send  his  son  to  a  private  academy  in 
London,  and  some  iime  before  his  death  remov- 
ed him  to  the  university  of  Xeyden,  where  he 
studied  the  Jewish  Antiquities  under  Witsius, 
Civil  Law  under  Vitrarius,  the  Belles  Lettres 
under  Perizonius,  and  Experimental  Philosophy 
under  Senguerdius.  From  this  mart  of  learning 
he  returned,  an  accomplished  scholar,  with  a  vast 
accession  of  treasure  in  books  he  had  purchased, 
and  knowledge  he  had  acquired,  without  any 
taint  of  his  morals,  which  he  had  preserved  as 
uncorrupt,  as  if  he  had  been  under  the  control  of 
the  most  rigid  inspection. 

Mr.  Rowe,  from  education  and  principle,  was 
zealously  attached  to  the  cause  of  civil  and  reli- 
gious liberty.  He  had  imbibed  the  most  gene- 
rous sentiments  from  his  familiar  acquaintance 


12  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROW^^.. 

with  history,  and  the  renowned  authors  of  an- 
cient Greece  and  Rome.  During  his  residence 
at  Leyden,  he  had  examples  continually  before 
him  of  the  benefit  resulting  from  freedom,  as  the 
parent  of  industry,  the  nurse  of  the  arts  and 
sciences,  and  the  grand  source  of  social  bliss. 
Fraught  with  generous  and  exalted  ideas,  he 
could  not  on  his  return  to  his  native  country  but 
see  with  concern,  principles  adopted  and  acted 
upon  by  some  men  in  power,  subversive  of  its  li- 
berties, its  glory,  and  its  happiness.  As  he  detest- 
ed tyranny  of  every  kind,  but  particularly  that 
which  is  exercised  over  the  reason  and  conscience 
of  mankind,  he  opposed  with  a  laudable  zeal  the 
arbitrary  strides  that  were  made  to  suppress  re- 
ligious toleration,  justly  deeming  the  slavery  of 
the  mind  as  the  most  abject  and  ignominious  that 
can  possibly  be  entailed  upon  rational  beings. 
His  writings  will  perpetuate  his  patriotism  and 
philantrophv,  as  they  evidently  shew  him  to  have 
been  the  advocate  of  virtue  and  the  friend  of 
mankind.  From  his  love  of  liberty  proceeded 
his  attachment  to  the  illustrious  house  of  Hano- 
ver, in  which  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  living 
to  see  the  succession  to  the  British  throne  take 
place,  and  he  would  often  congratulate  his  friends 
on  that  happy  and  memorable  event. 

As  Mr.  Rowe's  desire  for  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  admitted  of  no  bounds,  he  was  inde- 
fatigable in  the  pursuit  of  it,  and  therefore  de- 
voted all  his  morning  hours  to  study,  till  the 
time  of  his  being  seized  with  the  distemper 
which  proved  mortal.  His  library  consisted  of 
a  most  extensive  and  judicious  collection  of 
books  y  and  as  he  was  continually  nxaking  addi- 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  13 

tlons  to  it,  amounted,  a^i  it  is  said,  at  his  death 
to  above  five  thousand  volumes. 

His  mind  was  stored  with  knowledge  of  every 
kind,  which  added  to  a  most  retentive  memory 
and  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  wit,  rendered 
him  a  most  lively  and  entertaining  companion  ; 
so  that  his  society  was  courted  and  prized, 
throughout  the  whole  circle  of  his  acquaintance. 
He  was  an  excellent  judge  of  poetry,  and  seems 
himself  to  have  possessed  the  requisites  for  a 
poet,  such  as  a  lively  imagination,  aptitude  for 
expression,  and  fluency  of  diction;  but  as  he 
did  not  cultivate  the  art,  as  his  leading  passion, 
he  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  attained  to  any 
degree  of  eminence  in  it. 

His  principal  study  was  history,  for  which  he 
was  peculiarly  qualified,  by  his  universal  read- 
ing, vast  memory  and  exquisite  judgment.  He 
had  formed  a  design  of  compiling  the  lives  of 
all  the  illustrious  persons  of  antiquity  omitted 
by  the  famous  Grecian  Biographer  Plutarch;  and 
to  qualify  himself  for  that  arduous  undertaking, 
had  perused  v/ith  the  utmost  «ittention  all  the  an- 
cient Historians,  both  Roman  and  Grecian,  In- 
deed he  executed  his  design  in  part,  for  he  wrote 
eight  lives  which  v/ere  published  after  bis  de- 
cease as  a'  supplement  to  the  work  of  that  much- 
admired  Biographer,  in  v/hich  he  discovers  great 
knowledge  of  ancient  history  in  particular,  and 
of  human  nature  in  general.  The  style  is  easy, 
concise  and  nervous,  the  facts  related  are  authen- 
ticated by  indubitable  testimony,  and  the  obser- 
vations and  Inferences  founded  on  the  most  im- 
partial and  equitable  principles. 

Dr.  Chaiidler,  a  dissenting  minister  of  great 
genius,  learning  and  probity,  wroie  a  preface  to 

B 


14  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

Rowers  Lives,  in  which  he  expresses  his  esteem 
for  the  author  in  the  following  words :  ^  He 
must  be  insensible  to  true  merit,  and  to  all  just 
regards  to  the  public  good,  that  can  look  over 
these  valuable  remains,  without  finding  in  him- 
self a  true  respect  and  esteem  raised  for  the  au- 
thor ;  and  his  own  heart  inspired  within  encreas- 
ing  love  to  the  liberties  and  welfare  of  his 
country.'  Besides  these  lives,  he  had  prepared 
for  the  press  the  life  of  Thrasybulus,  which  was- 
submitted  to  the  revisal  of  Sir  Richard  Steele, 
but  from  causes  not  known  never  published. 

Mr.  Rowe  being  at  Bath  in  1709,  was  intro- 
duced by  a  friend  to  the  company  of  Miss  Singer, 
who  lived  in  a  recluse  manner  in  a  spot  not  far 
distant  from  that  city.  He  had  a  predilection  for 
her  from  her  writings,  which  he  had  read  with 
the  greatest  delight,  as  well  as  from  the  favour- 
able report  he  had  heard  from  several  of  her  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  when  he  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  and  conversing  with  her,  he  was  captivated 
by  the  union  of  so  much  beauty,  wit,  and  virtue, 
and  from  an  admirer  soon  became  a  suitor.  As 
a  proof  of  the  high  veneration  in  w^hich  he  held 
the  qualifications  of  Miss  Singer,  both  mental 
and  personal,  we  shall  cite  the  following  extract 
from  a  poetical  epistle  he  sent  to  a  friend  and 
neighbour  of  that  lady,  during  the  courtship. 

Youth's  liveliest  bloom,  a  never-fading  grace, 
And  more  than  beauty  sparkles  in  her  face  : 
Yet  the  bright  form  creates  no  loose  desires,  "^ 

At  once  she  <^ives  and  purifies  our  fires,  C 

And  passions,  chaste  as  her  own  soul,  inspires.        j 
Her  s^  uh  Heav'n's  perfect  workmanship,  design'd 
To  bless  the  ruin'd  ape,  and  succour  lost  mankind  ; 
To  prop  ab;.mdr'n'd  Virtue's  sinking  cause. 
And  snatch  from  Vice  its  undeserved  applause. 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  lo 

The  happvpair,  whose  minds  were  so  conge- 
nial, v/ere  united  in  the  bands  of  marriage  in  the 
year  1710,  on  which  occasion  a  learned  friend  of 
Mr.  Rowe  wrote  a  Latin  Epigram,  of  which  the 
following  is  a  translation. 

On  the  Marriage   of  Mr,    Thowaa  Rowe,  and  Miss 
hlizabeth  dinger. 

No  more,  proud  Gallia,  bid  the  world  revere 
Thy  learned  pcur,  Le  Fevre  and  Dacier : 
Britain  maj^  boast ;  this  happy  day  unites 
Two  nobler  minds  in  Hymen's  sacred  rites : 
What  these  have  sung;,  while  all  th'  inspiring  nine 
Exalt  the  beauties  of  the  verse  divine  ; 
Those  (humble  critics  of  th*  immortal  strain) 
Shall  bound  their  fame  to  comment  and  explain. 

The  transcendent  virtues  and  elegant  endow- 
ments of  Mrs.  Rowe  could  not  fail  to  maintain 
the  generous  passion  they  at  first  excited  in  the 
breast  of  her  husband,  so  susceptible  of  every 
tender  emotion,  and  alive  to  every  delicate  feel- 
ing. He  knew  how  to  estimate  the  ixierits  of  his 
amiable  consort,  and  to  repay  by  the  tenderest 
and  most  endearing  caresses,  the  care  and  solici- 
tude she  always  discovered  for  his  person  and 
happiness.  Some  time  after  the  marriage  he 
took  occasion  to  express  his  sentiments  of  con- 
nubial friendship  and  affection,  in  an  ode  ad- 
dressed to  her  under  the  name  of  Delia  ;  and  as 
the  following  lines  seem  to  have  presaged  events 
in  a  manner  so  agreeable  to  the  wishes  express- 
ed in  them,  we  presume  they  will  not  be  unac- 
ceptable  to  our  readers. 

So  long  may  thy  inspiring  page. 
And  great  example,  bless  the  rising  age  ! 


36  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

Long  in  thy  charnriing  prison  mayst  thou  stay, 
Late,  very  late,  ascend  the  well -known  way^ 
And  add  new  glories  to  the  realnns  or  day  I 
At  least  Heav'n  will  not  sure  this  pray'r  deny  : 

Short  be  my  life's  uncertain  date, 
And  earlier  far  than  thine  the  destin'd  hour  of  fate ! 

Whene'er  it  comes  mayst  ihou  be  by. 
Support  my  sinking  ^'rame,  and  teach  me  how  to  die. 

B^aiish  desponding  nature's  gloom. 

Make  me  to  hope  a  gentle  doom, 

And  fix  me  all  in  jv)ys  to  come. 
With  su^imming  eyes  I'll  gaze  upon  thy  charms. 
And  clasp  thee,  dying,  in  my  fainting  arms : 

Then  gently  leaning  on  thy  breast 

Sink  in  soft  slumbers  to  eternal  rest, 

The  ghastly  form  shall  have  a  pleasing  air. 

And  all  things  smile  while  Heav'n  and  thou  ar^^ 
there. 

As  Mr.  Rowe  was  not  of  a  robust  habit  of 
body,  a  long  series  of  intense  application  to 
stLidy  might  probably  produce  that  decline  of 
health,  which  allayed  the  happiness  of  connubial 
life,  during  the  greater  part  of  its  short  duration. 
About  the  close  of  the  year  1714  he  appeared  to 
labour  under  a  consumption,  which  in  the  course 
of  a  few  months  put  a  period  to  his  life,  on  the 
13th  of  May,  1715,  when  he  was  but  just  past 
the  twenty-eighth  year  of  his  age.  He  was  in- 
terred in  the  vault  belonging  to  his  family  in  the 
burial-place  in  Bunhill-fields,  where  on  his  tomb 
are  only  marked  his  name  and  the  date  of  his 
birth  and  death.  But  ample  justice  was  done  to 
his  memory  by  his  amiable  relict  in  the  elegy  she 
^vrote  on  his  death,  which  is  justly  deemed  the 
most  admirable  of  her  poetical  works.  She  con- 
tinued, indeed,  to  the  last  moments  of  her  life, 
to  testify  in  every  instance  the  highest  veneration 
and  affection  for  his  memory,  a$  is  evident  from 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  X7 

the  poem  she  wrote  on  the  anniversary  return  of 
the  day  on  which  he  died. 

The  noise  and  bustle  of  a  town  life  by  no 
means  suited  the  contemplative  disposition  of 
Mrs.  Rowe,  nor  could  any  thing  reconcile  her  to 
a  residence  in  London,  during  even  the  winter 
season,  but  the  society  of  her  husband  ;  so  that 
as  soon  after  his  decease, as  she  could  arrange  her 
affairs,  she  retired  to  enjoy  that  solitude  with 
which  she  was  so  highly  delighted,  to  Frome  in 
Somersetshire,  in  the  vicinity  of  which  she  pos» 
sessed  considerable  landed  property.  Though 
upon  her  leaving  town,  she  formed  a  resolution 
to  revisit  it  no  more,  but  pass  the  residue  of  her 
days  in  total  solitude,  she  v\^as  sometimes  induc- 
ed to  recede  from  that  determination.  She  could 
not  withstand  the  importunate  solicitations  of 
her  honourable  friend  Mrs.  Thynne,  but  passed 
some  time  with  her  in  London,  to  console  her 
on  the  death  of  her  daughter  ;  nor  could  she  on 
the  melancholy  occasion  of  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Thynne  herself,  refuse  compliance  with  the  re- 
quest of  the  Countess  of  Hertford  to  reside 
some  time  with  her  Ladyship  at  Marlborough, 
to  soften  by  her  engaging  conversation  and 
friendly  admonition,  the  very  severe  affliction 
she  underwent  fbr  the  loss  of  so  excellent  a  pa- 
rent. She  was  also  on  some  future  occasions 
prevailed  upon  by  the  same  illustrious  lady,  to 
spend  a  fev/  months  with  her  at  some  of  the 
Earl  of  Hertford's  seats  in  the  country.  But 
she  always  quitted  her  retirement  with  much  re- 
luctance, and  discovered  the  greatest  eagerness 
to  return  to  it,  as  soon  as  ever  she  had  fulfilled 
her  engagements  with  her  noble  friends  ! 

In  the  happiest  hours  of  her  retirement,  she 

b2 


18  LIFE  QF  MRS.  ROWE. 

I 

romposed  the  greatest  part  of  her  works,  and 
particuhirly  her  Friendship  in  Death,  '  and  the 
several  Letters  Moral  and  Entertaining.'  ^  The 
drift  of  the  Letters  from  the  Dead,  is  (^as  ex- 
pressed in  the  preface)  to  impress  the  notion  of 
the  soul's  irarnortality,  without  which  ail  virtue 
and  religion,  with  their  temporal  and  eternal 
good  consequences,  must  fall  to  the  ground,  and 
to  make  our  mind  familiar  with  the  thought  of 
our  future  existence,  and  contract  as  it  were  an 
habitual  persuasion  of  it  by  writings  built  on  that 
foundation,  and  addressed  to  the  affections  and 
imagination. 

The  design  both  of  these  and  the  Letters  mo- 
ral and  entertaining  evidently  is,  by  presenting 
to  the  mind  fictitious  examples  of  the  most  disin- 
terested benevolence,  and  inflexible  virtue,  to 
animate  the  reader  to  the  practice  of  whatever 
tends  to  ennoble  human  nature,  and  promote  the 
happiness  of  mankind  :  and  on  the  other  hand, 
by  pourtraying  images  of  horror,  and  exhibiting 
characters  disgusting  in  themselves,  to  deter  the 
young  and  unwary  from  such  pursuits,  which  if 
persevered  in  must  embitter  the  present  life,  and 
endanger  the  happiness  of  the  future.  The  ten- 
dency of  such  a  design  must  highly  recommend 
it,  as  the  efforts  of  genius  have  been  too  frequent- 
ly exerted  in  disguising  the  native  deformity  of 
vice;  and  in  palliating,  if  not  justifying,  immo- 
rality of  conduct.  ^  But  this  excellent  lady  (as 
observed  by  an  eminent  writer  of  the  last  age,) 
possessed  so  much  strength  and  firmness  of  mind, 
and  such  a  perfect  natural  goodness,  as  could 
npt  be  perverted  by  the  largeness  of  her  wit; 
and  was  proof  against  the  art  of  poetry  itself.' 
And  it  is  added  with  great  propriety  by  a  mo- 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWTE.  1^" 

dern  writer,  '  that  the  elegant  letters  which  gave 
occasion  to  remark  this  distinction  in  Mrs. 
Rowe's  character,  as  a  poiite  writer,  are  not  only 
chaste  and  innocent,  but  greatly  subservieut  to 
the  truest  interests  of  mankind  ;  and  evidently 
designed  by  representing  virtue  in  all  its  genuine 
beauty,  to  recommend  it  to  the  chuice  and  admi- 
ration of  mankind. 

Our  author,  in  the  year  1736,  w^s  prevailed  on 
by  the  importunity  of  some  of  her  most  intimate 
friends,  to  publish  her  History  of  Joseph,  in  ten 
books.  This  poem  was  the  production  of  her 
juvenile  days  ;  and  when  first  printed  went  no 
farther  than  the  marriage  of  the  hero  of  the 
piece  ;  but  at  the  express  desire  of  an  illustrious 
friend,  that  the  narration  might  comprise  the 
memorable  circumstance  of  Joseph's  discovering 
himself  to  his  brethren,  she  added  two  other 
books,  which  she  is  said  to  have  perfected  in  the 
course  of  three  or  four  days ;  and  this  latter 
part,  her  last  work  was  published  biit  a  few 
weeks  before  her  death. 

She  had  retired  some  time  before  this  impor* 
tant  event  took  place,  to  her  favourite  recess  at 
Frome.  The  business  of  her  life,  strange  as  it 
may  seem  to  gay  and  dissipated  minds,  had  been 
to  prepare  for  death.  She  was  blessed  with  a 
good  constitution,  which  a  long  series  of  years 
had  but  little  impaired  ;  but  a  few  months  before 
her  dissolution,  she  was  attacked  by  a  disease, 
from  the  symptoms  of  which  she  herself  as  v/ell 
as  her  friends,  found  cause  to  apprehend  danger. 
Though  she  ingenuously  confessed  she  did  not 
find  herself  entirely  free  from  that  alarm,  from 
which  human  nature  with  its  most  exalted  attain- 
ments cannot  be  exempt  on  so  trying  an  occa- 


feO  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

sion  ;  yet  when  she  reflected  on  the  mercy  of 
God  through  ihe  mediation  of  the  great  Re- 
deemer, she  found  from  a  firm  reliance  on  the 
same,  such  a  degree  of  satisfaction  and  transport, 
that  she  said  with  tears  of  joy,  '  she  knew  not 
that  she  had  ever  felt  the  like  in  all  her  life  C 
and  she  repeated  on  this  occasion  Mr.  Pope's 
verses,  entitled  'The  Dying  Chrisiian,'  in  so. 
feeling  a  manner,  as  abundantly  proved  to  her 
friends  around  her,  that  she  was  fullv  impressed 
with  the  elevated  sentiments  of  devodon  und  re- 
signation, which  this  exquisite  piece  of  sacred 
poetry  is  calculated  to  inspire. 

Bui  Mrs.  Rowe  recovered  from  thi^  alarming 
shock  of  her  constitution  ;  and  from  her  exact 
temperance,  as  well  as  perfect  serenitv  of  mind, 
undisturbed  by  worldly  cares  or  tumultnous  pas- 
sions, her  friends  were  encouraged  to  hope  for  a 
much  longer  continuance  of  a  life  soliscfid  and 
desirable,  than  it  pleased  the  great  Disposer  of 
all  events  to  allot.  On  the  very  day  on  which 
she  w^as  attacked  by  the  disorder,  that  in  a  few 
hours  proved  mortal,  she  seemed  to  those  about 
lier  to  be  in  perfect  healtli,  and  in  the  evening  of 
it  conversed  w  itji  a  friend,  w^ith  her  usual  alert- 
ness before  she  returned  to  her  chamber.  Soon 
after  her  servant  hearing  an  vmusual  noise  in  her 
mistress's  room,  hastened  thither,  and  to  her 
great  consternation  found  her  prostrate  on  the 
floor,  speechless,  and  in  the  agonies  of  death. 
A  physician  and  surgeon  were  immediately  sent 
for,  but  all  the  means  used  were  ineffectual,  and 
she  expired  on  Sunday  morning,  February  28, 
1737',  in  the  sixty-third  year  of  her  age.  Her 
disease  was  supposed  by  the  faculty  to  have  been 
an  apoplexy.     From  a  religious  book  that  was 


LIFE  OF  MRS,  ROWE.  21 

found  lying  open  by  her,  and  also  soncie  loose 
papers  on  which  she  had  written  some  uncon- 
nected sentences,  it  appeared  that  she  passed  the 
latest  moments  of  her  life  in  the  exercise  of  de- 
votion. 

It  is  remarked  by  a  pious  friend,  that  the  sud- 
den departure  of  Mrs.  Rowe,  from  this  transi- 
tory state  of  existence,  may  be  considered  as  a 
token  of  the  divine  favour  in  answer  to  her  ear- 
nest entreaties  at  the  throne  of  grace  ;  for  as  she 
was  fearful  that  the  violence  of  pain,  or  the  lan- 
guor of  decaying  nature,  might  bring  on  a  de- 
pression of  spirits,  or  cause  such  indication  of 
alarm  on  the  view  of  approaching  dissolution,  as 
might  reflect  dishonour  on  her  profession  as  a 
christian,  her  manuscript  book  of  devotions  con- 
tains frequent  petitions  to  heaven,  deprecating 
such  a  situation  ;  and  she  often  expressed  to  her 
friends  a  desire  of  a  sudden  departure,  especially 
when  she  was  particularly  affected  by  such  appre- 
hensions. Indeed,  we  may  adopt  on  this  occasion 
the  words  of  Mr.  Graves,  in  alette^to  a  friend 
soon  after  her  decease  :  ^  Though  her  death  be 
universally  lamented,  yet  the  manner  of  it  is  ra- 
ther to  be  esteemed  a  part  of  her  happiness.  One 
moment  to  enjoy  this  life  ;  the  next,  or  after  a 
pause,  we  are  not  sensible  of,  to  find  ourselves  got 
beyond,  not  only  the  fears  of  death,  but  death 
itself,  and  in  possession  of  everlasting  life,  and  ^ 
health  and  pleasure  :  this  moment  to  be  devoutly 
addressing  ourselves  to  God,  or  employed  in  de- 
lightful meditations  on  his  perfections  ;  the  next 
in  his  presence,  and  surrounded  with  scenes  of 
bliss  perfectly  UQvr  and  unspeakably  joyous  ;  is  a 
way  of  departing  out  of  this  life  to  be  desired,  not 
dreaded  by  ourselves,  and  felicitated,  not  con- 


22  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

doled  by  our  surviving  friends  :  Mhen  all  things 
are  in  readiness  for  our  removal  out  oi  the 
world,  it  is  a  privilege  to  be  spared  the  sad  cere- 
mony of  parting,  and  all  the  pains  and  struggles 
of  feeble  n^iture.' 

Though   Mrs.  Rovve  possessed  from  nattire, 
great   vivacity  of  temper  and  gaiety  of  disposi- 
tion, and  seemc  d  peculiisrly  adapted  to  enjoy  the 
innocent  pleasures  and  amusements  of  life  ;  yet 
her  mind  was  so   impressed  with  a  sense  of  the 
superior  bliss  resulting  from   the  contemplatioa 
of  a  future  world,  that  she  looked  down  with  con- 
tempt on  all  sublunary  objects,  and  aspired,  with 
an  holv  ardour,  to  a  state  of  perfection  not  to  be 
attained  within  the  narrow  confines  of  a  limited 
existence.     When  her  friends  congratulated  her 
on  the  appearance  of  health  and  vigour,   which 
were  visible  in  her  countenance,  and  expressed 
the  pleasing  prospect  they  had  of  the  continuance 
of  her  life  for  a  series  of  future  years  ;  she  would 
reply  '  that  it  w^as  the  same  as  telling  a  slave  his 
fetters  were  like  to  be  lasting,  or  complimenting 
him  on  the  strength  of  the  walls  of  his  dungeon.' 
Indeed,   she   expressed   upon  every  occasion,   a 
most  ardent  desire  of  entering  upon  a  life  of  im- 
mortality, and   frequently  flattered  herself  with 
the  expectation  of  its  near  approach,  and  in  par- 
ticular a  short  time  before  her  death,  communi- 
cated to  her  religious  friends  her  firm  persuasion, 
that  her  continuance  upon  earth  would  be  but  of 
short  duration,  but  without  assigning  any  reason 
for  her  opinion.     We  do  not  lay  any  stress   on 
such  supposed  presages,   but  only  mention  them 
on  the  authority  of  preceding  biographers. 

This  pious   and  exemplary  christian,  was  in- 
terred at  her  own  request  under  the  same  stone 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  «S 

with  her  father,  in  the  iVIe  ting-place  at  Frome, 
on  which  occasion  a  funeral  sermon  was  preached 
by  the  niinir>ter  of  the  same  to  a  croaded  audi- 
ence, wh{>  i^evercd  her  character,  and  ternented 
her  loss  with  uncommon  tokens  of  sorrow.  To 
the  poor,  her  death  was  a  particular  source  of  af- 
fliction ;  as  to  thv^m  she  wa:>  a  never-failing  bene- 
factress, and  her  bounty  was  heightened  by  the 
condescending  manner  in  which  it  was  dispensed. 
The  folio vving  letters  to  several  of  her  friends, 
for  whom  she  entertained  a  particular  esteem  and 
affection,  were  found  in  her  cabinet,  left  there 
with  her  express  desire  that  they  should  be  deli- 
vered according  to  address  immediately  after  her 
decease. 


To  the  CO  UXTESS  of  HE  R  TFORD. 

MADAM, 

THIS  is  the  last  letter  you  will  ever  receive 
from  me  j  the  last  assurance  I  shall  give  you  on 
earth,  of  a  sincere  and  steadfast  friendship  ;  but 
when  we  meet  again,  I  hope  it  will  be  in  the 
height  of  immortal  love  and  ecstacy  :  Mine,  per- 
haps, may  be  the  first  glad  spirit  to  congratulate 
your  safe  arrival  on  the  happy  shore.  Heaven 
can  witness  how  sincere  my  concern  for  your 
happiness  is :  thither  I  have  sent  my  ardent 
wishes,  that  you  may  be  secured  from  the  flatter- 
ing delusions  of  the  world,  and  after  vour  pious 
example  has  been  long  a  blessing  to  mankind, 
may  you  calmly  resign  \o\ir  breath  and  enter  the 
confines  of  unmolested  jov, 

I  am  now  taking  my  farewel  of  you  here  ;  but 
'tis  a  short  adieu,  for  I  die  with  full  persuasion 


24  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

that  we  shall  soon  meet  again.  But  oh  !  in  what 
elevation  of  happiness  !  in  what  enlargement  of 
miud^  and  perfection  of  every  faculty ;  what 
transj)c*»^ting  reflections  shall  we  make  in  the  ad- 
vantages of  which  we  shall  find  ourselves  eter- 
nally possessed!  To  Him  that  loved  us  and  wash- 
ed us  in  his  blood,  we  shall  ascribe  immortal 
glory,  dominion,  and  praise  for  ever. 

This  is  all  my  salvation  and  all  my  hope  !  that 
name  in  whom  the  gentiles  trust,  in  whom  all  the 
families  on  the  earth  are  blessed,  is  now  my  glo- 
rious, my  unfailing  confidence  ;  in  His  merits 
alone  I  expect  to  stand  justified  before  infinite 
purity  and  justice.  How  poor  were  my  hopes, 
if  i  depended  on  those  ^vorks,  which  my  own 
vanity,  or  the  partiality  of  men  call  good  ;  and 
which  examined  by  divine  purity,  would  prove, 
perhaps,  but  specious  sins.  The  best  actions  of 
my  life  would  be  found  defective,  if  brought  to 
the  test  of  unblemished  holiness,  in  whose  sight 
the  heavens  are  not  clear.  Where  v/ere  my 
hopes,  but  for  a  Redeemer's  merits  and  atone- 
ment !  how  desperate,  how  undone  my  condition  ! 
With  the  utmost  advantages  I  can  boast,  I  should 
start  back  and  tremble  at  the  thoughts  of  appear- 
ing before  the  unblemished  majesty.  O  Jesus, 
what  harmony  dwells  in  thy  name  !  Celestial  joy 
and  immortal  life  is  in  the  sound  !  Let  angels 
set  thee  to  their  golden  harps  !  Let  the  ransomed 
nations  for  ever  magnify  thee. 

What  a  dream  is  mortal  life  !  What  shadows 
are  the  objects  of  sense !  Ail  the  glories  of 
mortality,  my  much-loved  friend,  will  be  nothing 
in  your  view  at  the  awful  hour  of  death  ;  when 
you  must  be  separated  from  the  whole  creation, 
and  enter  on  the  borders  of  the  immaterial 
world. 


LIFE  €F  MRS.  ROWE.  25 

Something  persuades  me,  this  will  be  my  last 
farewell  in  this  world  :  Heaven  forbid  it  should 
be  an  everlasting  parting  !  May  that  divine  pro- 
tection, whose  care  I  implore,  keep  you  steadfast 
in  the  faith  of  Christianity,  and  guide  your  steps 
m  the  strictest  paths  of  virtue.  Adieu,  my  most 
dear  friend,  till  we  meet  in  the  paradise  of  God. 

Eliz,  Rowe. 


To  the  EARL  of  ORRERY. 


%. 


MY  LORD, 

THERE  seems  to  be  something  presaging 
in  the  message  you  ordered  me  to  deliver  to 
your  charming  Henrietta,  when  I  meet  her  gentle 
spirit  in  the  blissful  regions,  which  I  believe  will 
be  very  soon.  I  am  now  acting  the  last  part  of 
my  life,  and  com.posing  myself  to  meet  the  uni- 
versal terror  with  a  fortitude  becoming  the  prin- 
ciples of  Christianity.  It  is  alone  through  the 
great  Redeemer's  merits  and  atonement,  that  I 
hope  to  pass  undaunted  through  the  fatal  dark- 
ness. 

Before  him  Death,  the  grisly  tyrant  flies, 
He  wipes  the  tears  for  ever  from  our  eyes. 

All  hurnan  greatness  makes  no  figure  to  my 
prestmt  apprehension ;  every  distinction  va- 
nishes, but  those  of  virtue  a|i^  real  merit.  It  is 
this  which  gives  a  peculiar  regard  for  such  a  cha- 
racter as  your's,  and  gives  me  hopes  your  exam- 
ple will  not  fall  short  of  those  of  your  illustrious 
ancestors.  The  approaches  of  death  set  the 
world  in  a  true  light  j  its  brightest  advantages 

c 


26  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

appear  no  more  than  a  dream,  in  that  solemn 
period  :  the  immortal  mind  will  quit  a  cottage, 
perhaps  with  less  regret  than  it  would  leave  ihe 
splendour  of  a  palace,  and  the  breathless  ctust 
sleep  as  quietly  beneath  the  grassy  turi,  as  under 
the  parade  of  a  costly  monument*  These  are 
insignificant  circumstances  to  a  spirit  doomed  to 
an  endless  duration  of  misery  or  bliss.  It  is 
this  important  concern,  my  lord,  that  has  induced 
me  to  spend  my  time  in  a  peaceful  retirement, 
rather  than  to  waste  it  in  a  train  of  thoughtless 
amusements*  My  thoughts  are  grown  familiar 
with  the  solemnity  of  dying,  and  death  seems 
to  me  to  advance,  not  as  an  inflexible  tyrant,  but 
as  the  peaceful  messenger  of  liberty  and  happi- 
ness. May  I  make  my  exit  in  that  elate  manner 
those  charming  lines  of  Mr,  Pope  describe. 

The  world  recedes,  it  disappears ; 
Heav'n  opens  on  my  eyes,  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring  : 
Lend,  lend  ycur  wings  !  1  mount !  I  fly  ! 
O  grave  I  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  death  !  where  is  thy  stiiig? 

The  nearer  I  am  approaching  to  immortality, 
the  more  extenbive  and  enlarged  I  find  the  prin- 
ciples of  amity  and  good  will  in  my  soul:  from 
hence  arise  the  most  sincere  wishes  for  your  hap- 
piness,  and  for  the  charming  pledges  your  lovely 
Henrietta  left.  Oh  !  my  lord,  if  you  would  dis- 
charge the  sacred  trust,  keep  them  under  your 
own  inspection.  This  will  not  reach  you,  my 
lord,  till  I  am  past  the  ceremony  of  subscribing 
Your  humble  Servant, 

Eliz.  Rowe. 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  V 

To  MR.  JAMES  THEOBALD. 


SIR, 


THE  converse  I  have  had  with  you  has 
been  very  short,  but  I  hope  the  friendship  begun 
by  it,  will  be  transmitted  to  the  regions  of  per- 
fect amity  and  bliss.  It  would  not  be  w^orth 
while  to  cherish  the  impressions  of  a  virtuous 
friendship,  if  the  generous  engagement  Vv^as  to 
be  dissolved  with  mortal  life.  Such  a  thought 
would  give  the  grave  a  deeper  gloom,  and  add 
new  horrors  to  the  fatal  darkness. 

But  I  confess  I  have  brighter  expectations, 
and  am  fully  persuaded  that  these  noble  attach- 
ments which  are  founded  on  real  merit,  are  of  an 
immortal  date.  That  benignity,  that  divine  cha- 
rity, which  just  warms  the  soul  in  these  cold 
regions,  will  shine  with  new  lustre  and  burn  with 
an  eternal  ardour,  in  the  happy  seats  of  peace  and 
love.  My  present  experience  confirms  «ie  in 
this  truth  ;  the  powers  of  nature  are  droopii>g, 
the  vital  spark  grows  languid  and  faint ;  while 
my  affection  for  my  surviving  friends  was  never 
more  warm,  my  concern  for  their  happiness  was 
never  more  ardent  and  sincere.  This  makes  me 
employ  some  of  the  last  part  of  my  time  in 
writing  to  three  or  four  persons,  whose  merit  re- 
quires my  esteem,  in  hopes  this  solemn  farewell 
will  leave  ^  serious  impression  on  their  minds. 

I  am  going  to  act  the  last  and  most  important 
part  of  human  life  ;  in  a  little  time  I  shall  land 
on  the  immortal  coasts,  w^here  all  is  new,  amaz- 
ing and  unknown  :  but  however  gloomy  the  pas- 
sage appears : 


h  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

Sweet  fields,  beyond  the  swelling  flood, 

Stand  dress'd  in  living  green  : 
So  to  the  Jews  old  Canaan  stood. 

While  Jordan  roird  between. 

Dr.  Watts. 

Nature  cannot  but  shiver  at  the  fatal  brinks, 
unwilling  to  try  the  grand  experiment,  while  the 
hopes  of  Christianity  can  alone  support  the  soul 
in  this  solemn  crisis.  In  this  existence  the  eter- 
nal spirit  whispers  peace  and  pardon  to  the  dying 
saint,  through  the  atonement,  and  brightens  the 
shadow  of  death,  w^ith  some  glimmering  of  im- 
mortal light.  Tell  Mrs.  Theobald  I  hope  to 
meet  her  in  the  shining  realms  of  love  and  un- 
mingled  bliss— 

Where  crown'd  with  joy,  and  ever-blooming  youth, 
Th^  jocund  hours  dance  in  their  endless  round. 

Eliz.  Rowe. 


To  3IRS\  SARAH  ROWE. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, 

I  AM  now  taking  my  final  adieu  of  this 
world,  in  certain  hopes  of  meeting  you  in  the 
next.  I  carry  to  my  grave  ray  affection  and  gra- 
titude to  your  family,  and  leave  you  with  the  sin- 
cerest  concern  for  your  own  happiness,  and  the 
welfare  of  your  family.  May  my  prayers  be  an- 
swered  when  I  am  sleeping  in  the  dust !  O  may 
the  angels  of  God  conduct  you  in  the  paths  of 
immortal  glory  and  pleasure.  I  would  collect  the 
powers  of  my  soul,  and  ask  blessings  for  you 
with  all  the  holy  violence   of  prayer.     God   Al- 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  29 

mighty,  the  God  of  your  pious  ancestors,  who 
has  been  your  dwelling-place  for  many  genera- 
tions, bless  you ! 

Tis  but  a  short  space  I  have  to  measure  ;  the 
shadows  are  lengthening,  and  my' sun  declining. 
That  goodness  which  has  hitherto  conducted  me, 
will  not  fail  me  in  the  last  concluding  act  of  life  ; 
the  name  which  I  have  made  my  glory  and  my 
boast,  shall  then  be  my  strength  and  my  salvation. 
To  meet  death  with  a  becoming  fortitude,  is  a 
part  above  the  power  of  nature,  and  which  I  can 
perform  by  no  power  or  holiness  of  my  own ; 
for  oh  !  in  my  best  estate,  I  am  altogether  vanity, 
a  wretched,  helpless  sinner  ;  but  in  the  merits 
and  perfect  righteousness  of  God  my  Saviour, 
I  hope  to  appear  justified  at  the  supreme  tribunal, 
where  I  must  shortly  stand  to  be  judged. 

Eliz.  Rowe. 

Mrs.  Rowe  w^as  agreeable  in  person,  she  spoke 
gracefully  ;  her  voice  was  singularly  sweet  and 
harmonious,  and  admirably  adapted  to  convey  in 
all  its  charms,  the  elegant  language  that  flowed 
from  her  lips.  Her  countenance  indicated  a 
softness  and  benevolence  beyond  description,  and 
yet  commande^j  that  degree  of  awe  and' venera- 
tion, which  sense  and  virtue  so  naturally  inspire. 

From  her  converse  with  persons  in  the  higher 
circles  of  life,  her  manners  were  refined,  and  she 
carried  an  ease  and  politeness  of  behaviour  into 
her  retirement ;  but  though  elegant  in  her  de- 
portment, she  was  merely  neat  in  her  apparel, 
and  seems  to  have  conquered  all  desire  of  com- 
plving  with  the  fashionable  follies  of  the  time, 
and  the  vain  pomp  and  paf-ade  of  life  ;  so  that 
she  seemed  to  have  soared  above  her  sex,  in  re- 

c2 


so  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

sistlng  the  force  of  custom  so  prevalent  in  every 
age.  The  business  of  the  toilet  did  not  interfere 
with  those  nobler  pursuits,  which  tend  to  the  ac- 
complishment of  the  mind,  however  they  may 
detract  from  the  ornament  of  the  person  ;  as  she 
exhibited  the  example  in  herself,  she  recom- 
mended the  practice  to  the  whole  circle  of  her 
acquaintance. 

In  early  life  she  discovered  that  inclination  to 
retirement,  so  congenial  to  the  votaries  of  the 
muses,  which  she  retained  to  the  latest  period  of 
her  life.  Her  company,  prior  to  marriage,  was 
courted  by  the  great  and  the  opulent;  and  if 
prompted  by  the  rules  of  politeness  to  accept  of 
occasional  invitations,  she  quitted  solitude  with 
reluctance,  and  made  her  visits  to  town  as  short 
as  possible. 

Mrs,  Rowe  discovered  the  same  inclination  to 
solitude,  after  her  husband's  death,  which  she 
had  done  before,  and  as  she  advanced  in  life 
seemed  more  and  more  disposed  to  retire  from 
the  busy  world,  notwithstanding  the  entreaties  of 
her  friends,  who  used  every  effort  to  prevail 
upon  her  to  alter  her  conduct,  and  indulge  them 
with  her  entertaining  and  instructive  conversa- 
tion. Persons  of  a  recluse  temper,  though  by  a 
rigid  virtue  they  may  be  guarded  against  the 
violence^  of  sensual  passions,  are  frequently 
known  to  indulge  supercilious  austerity,  a  rigid 
censoriousness  of  the  conduct  of  others,  and 
many  disgusting  and  unsocial  propensities  :  but 
none  of  these  disagreeable  qualities  could  be  im- 
puted to  Mrs.  Rowe,  who  was  as  remarkable  for 
every  social  virtue,  as  for  a  strict  adherence  to 
the  positive  injunctions  of  religion,  and  thought 
the  indulgence  of  those  inclinations,  to  which 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWlfi.  31 

men  are  prone  from  the  prevalence  of  passions 
incidental  to  them  in  the  present  state,  less  cri- 
minal, than  settled  habits  of  barbarity,  and  the 
want  of  that  philanthropy,  which  is  the  greatest 
ornament  of  human  nature. 

She  possessed  a  mind  unruffled  by  any  of  the 
common  incident-s  of  life,  and  a  sweetness  of 
disposition  that  could  not  be  affected,  either  by 
adverse  occurrences,  or  the  infirmities  of  age  it- 
self; and  had  too  much  philosophy  to  be  angry  at 
little  casualties,  which  she  would  only  turn  into 
subjects  of  pleasant  and  agreeable  raillery. 
She  was  so  placid  in  her  behaviour  towardaher 
inferiors  and  domestics,  that  her  servant  who 
lived  with  her  near  twenty  years,  never  observed 
in  her  mistress  any  inclination  to  wrath,  or  dis- 
position to  resentment,  but  against  flagrant  in- 
stances of  impiety  and  immorality;  in  which 
cases  it  is  commendable  to  indicate  tokens  of  in- 
dignation. 

Mrs.  Rowe  had  a  most  settled  aversion  to  the 
practice  of  scandal  and  calumny,  and  v*^as  scru- 
pulously tender  of  the  character  of  her  neigh- 
bours. In  a  letter  to  a  lady,  with  whom  she  had 
long  lived  in  habits  of  intimacy;  she  writes  in 
the  foliowing  manner :  '  I  can  appeal  to  you  if 
ever  you  knew  me  make  an  envious,  or  an  ill- 
natured  reflection  on  any  person  on  earth.  The 
foliies  of  mankind  would  affbrd  a  wide  and  va- 
rious scene,  but  charity  would  draw  a  veil  of 
darkness  here,  and  chuse  to  be  for  ever  silent, 
leather  than  expatiate  on  the  melancholy  theme.' 
Detraction  was  so  odious  in  her  opinion,  as  not 
to  he-justified  by  the  liveliest  sallies  of  w^t,  or 
palliated  by  the  most  specious  pretences  of  be- 
ing introduced  for  the  purpose  of  entt  rtainnient. 
If  such  frivolous  topics  were  introduced  when 


S2  ,      LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE. 

she  was  present,  she  would  not  hesitate  on  proper 
occasions  to  express  her  detestation  of  it :  and 
surely  to  assert  the  cause  of  the  absent,  when 
character  is  unjustly  traduced,  or  extenuate  foi- 
bles or  errors,  if  not  of  an  injurious  tendency, 
argues  a  genuine  and  laudable  magnanimity. 

Of  envy  her  mind  was  too  exalted  to  be  sus- 
ceptible, but  always  disposed  to  do  justice  to 
merit  wherever  it  was  found,  nor  could  any  thing 
give  her  a  more  sensible  pleasure,  than  to  find 
cause  for  commendation.  But  though  she  was 
thus  liberally  inclined  to  comiuend  what  was 
praise- worthy  ;  a  sense  of  duty  and  regard  to  the 
truest  inter-  sts  of  mankind,  compelled  her  some- 
times to  undeitake  the  disagreeable  task  of  re- 
proof, which  she  had  the  power  of  softening  by 
the  means  of  gentle  remonstrance  and  aifecting 
dissuasive.  Sometimes  she  had  recottrse  to  ob- 
lique insinuation  and  innocent  artifice  to  disguise 
her  admonitions  ;  and  it  is  remarked,  that  she 
has  been  Xrequently  observed  to  commend  per- 
sons of  distinguished  eminence  for  one  kind  of 
moral  worth,  before  some  of  her  friends,  who 
were  deficient  in  that  particular  virtue,  in  hopes 
they  might  be  struck  with  the  beauty  of  the  ex- 
anq.le,  which  she  proposed  in  a  manner  so  little 
apt  to  give  offence.  Her  conversation  was  sin- 
guhirly  pleasing,  as  she  had  a  fund  of  wit,-  and 
conveved  her  ideas  in  elegant  language,  and  a 
fluency  of  diction  which  were  universally  admir- 
ed, and  particularly  so  as  she  delivered  her  sen- 
timents with  unaffected  ease,  and  openness  of 
behaviour. 

Though  Mrs.  Rowe's  accomplishments  from 
earlv  life,  had  been  the  theme  of  much  eulogium, 
and  obtained  her  the  commend'.ition  of  su^h  ap- 
proved judges  of  merit,  as  might  have  justified 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE>  33 

a  degree  of  vanity  in  a  female  author ;  yet  the 
whole  tenor  of  her  behaviour  evinced  a  modest 
diffidence  and  amiable  humility  ;  being  affable 
and  courteous  to  persons  of  every  rank  and  de- 
gree in  life.  Her  mind  was  too  exalted  to  be 
captivated  by  fashionable  amusements  ;  she  con- 
sidered play  when  adopted  merely  for  diversion, 
but  as  an  art  for  losiug  time  and  drowning  reflec- 
tion ^  but  if  followed  from  mercenary  motives, 
as  one  of  the  greatest  pests  of  society.  She 
seemed  naturally  inclined  to  favour  the  diver- 
sions of  the  theatre,  especially  those  of  the  tra- 
gic kind,  which  she  conceived  to  have  in  general 
a  moral  tendency ;  but  as  entertainments  of  a 
different  tendency  were  frequently  interspersed 
with  them,  or  added  to  them,  she  thought  it  in- 
consistent with  the  strictness  of  her  profession 
to  countenance  them  by  her  presence. 

She  disclaimed  every  kind  of  luxury  a»  dero- 
gatory to  the  dignity  of  human  beings,  who  are 
endowed  with  reason  and  designed  for  immor- 
tality ;  and  was  wholly  unconcerned  as  to  the 
provisions  for  her  table  ;  nor  did  she  discover  the 
least  anxiety  as  to  the  nature  of  her  food,  or  the 
manner  in  which  it  was  dressed  ;  and  if  there 
v\ras  any  defect  in  either  of  these  instances,  was 
so  far  from  giving  way  to  resentment,  that 
she  made  such  little  casual  disappointments  the 
subject  of  pleasant  raillery.  She  avoided  as 
much  as  possible  all  parties  of  pleasure,  as  well 
as  all  formal  visits,  as  far  as  decency  would  allow. 
Indeed  her  mind  seemed  so  enveloped  in  the  con- 
templation of  a  future  state,  that  she  had  no  re- 
lish for  any  earthly  enjoyment. 

Avarice  she  justly  deemed  the  most  sordid 
and  ignoble  of  the  human  passions,  and  often 


34  Life  of  mrs.  rowe. 

expressed  the  utmost  concern  at  its  governing  in- 
fluence over  the  actions  of  mankind.  She  was  so 
totali)  free  from  it  herself,  that  it  is  said  she  did 
not  know  her  own  estates  from  others,  till  some 
motives  of  prudence  obliged  her  to  inform  her- 
self^ when  she  apprehended  she  was  soon  to  leave 
them ;  and  was  so  far  from  a  rigorous  scrupulosity 
in  exacting  her  due,  that  her  negligence  and  un- 
concern for  those  matters  counteracted  very  es- 
sentially her  worldly  interest :  in  short,  hei^dis- 
interestedness  surpassed  human  conception,  in 
proof  of  which  we  cite  the  following  instances 
on  the  authority,  and  in  the  words  of  a  former 
biographer. 

^  She  let  her  estates  beneath  their  intrinsic 
value,  as  appeared  by  the  ccmsiderable  rise  of 
the  rents  after  her  decease  ;  and  was  so  gentle 
to  her  tenants,  that  she  not  only  had  no  law-suit 
with  any  of  them,  but  would  not  so  much  as  suf- 
fer them  to  be  threatened  v/ith  the  seizure  of 
their  goods,  on  neglect  of  payment  of  their  rents. 
When  one  of  them  who  owed  her  an  hundred 
pounds,  carried  oft  all  his  st<»ck  in  the  night,  she 
could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  embrace  an  oppor- 
tunity in  her  power  of  seizing  it  afterwards  ;  and 
if  he  had  not  in  this  manner  quitted  the  estate, 
upon  receiving  some  just  menaces  without  her 
knowledge,  it  is  more  than  probable,  that  her  ex- 
cess of  goodness  would  have  always  prevented 
her  from  having  recourse  to  rigorous  methods 
to  eject  him,  and  compel  him  to  do  her  justice.' 
It  would  be  easy  to  add  several  other  instances, 
highly  prejudical  to  her  interest,  in  which  she 
voluntarilv  departed  from  her  right,  when  she 
had  the  highest  claim  of  equity;  she  could  not 
bear  the  mention  of  injustice  without  tremblings 


LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWE.  ^ 

and  the  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  her  con- 
science,, with  regcird  to  this  sin,  was  so  great, 
that  she  hardly  thought  she  could  keep  far 
enough  from  it. 

^  1  can  appeal  to  thee  (says  she  in  an  address 
to  God),  how  scrupulously  I  have  acted  in  mat- 
ters of  equity,  and  how  willingly  1  have  injured 
myself  to  right  others.'  She  spoke  with  much 
warmth  of  the  extreme  danger  of  any  dishonest 
and  fraudulent  practice,  and  expressed  her  won- 
der, how  persons  could  die  with  any  repose  of 
mind,  under  the  least  degree  of  such  a  kind  of 
guilt. 

Such  was  the  modesty  of  our  author,  that  to 
prevent  any  eulogium  that  might  have  been  past 
on  her  literary  talents,  she  would  not  permit  any 
of  her  works  to  be  published  in  her  own  name, 
except  a  few  poems,  the  productio^is  of  her  ear- 
lier years.  She  retained  the  same  lowliness  of 
mind  to  the  latest  period  of  her  life,  as  appears 
from  the  orders  that  she  left  in  writing  to  her 
servant ;  after  having  desired  that  her  funeral 
might  be  by  night,  and  attended  only  by  a  small 
number  of  friends,  she  adds,  ^  charge  Mr.  Bow- 
den  not  to  sav  one  word  of  me  in  the  sermon*  I 
would  lie  in  my  father's  grave,  and  have  no  stone, 
nor  inscription  over  my  vile  dust,  which  I  gladly 
leave  to  oblivion  and  x:orruption,  till  it  rise  to  a 
glorious  immortality.' 

Mrs.  Rowc  was  conscientiously  scrupulous  in 
the  discharge  of  all  the  relative  duties  of  life. 
Her  father  she  loved  and  revered,  and  was  assi- 
duous in  her  attention  to  all  his  wants,  and  the 
fulfilment  of  all  his  desires,  and  to  express  her 
sense  of  filial  duty ;  she  has  been  heard  to  say, 
*  That  she  would  rather  die  than  displease  him.* 


36  LIFE  OF  MRS.  ROWK. 

And  she  sympathized  Avith  him  in  the  anguisfa. 
of  his  last  sickness,  in  so  sensible  a  degree,  chat 
it  occasioned  a  convulsion,  iVom  the  effects  of 
which  she  was  never  entirely  free  during  dit  re- 
mainder of  her  life.  She  attended  to  the  duties 
of  the  married  state,  with  the  same  exactness, 
and  gave  proof  in  every  instance  of  the  highest 
esteem  and  most  tender  affection  for  her  hus- 
band ;  endearing  herself  to  him  by  the  most  gen- 
tle and  engaging  manners.  She  never  thwarted 
his  inclinations,  though  not  always  consonant 
with  her  own,  and  by  interposing  her  tender  of- 
fices alleviated  the  burthens,  and  enhanced  the 
enjoyments  oi  life.  If  Mr.  Rowe,  who  did  not 
possess  the  same  degree  of  placidity  as  his  amia- 
ble consort,  broke  out  occasionally  into  any  ex- 
cesses of  anger,  instead  of  having  recourse  to 
the  means  oi  reprehension,  she  endeavoured  by 
the  most  soothing  endearments  to  restore  him  to 
reason  and  reflection  ;  and  it  was  her  constant 
study  by  all  the  allurements  of  persuasion  to  lead 
Mr.  Rowe  on  to  the  practice  of  those  exalted 
virtues,  for  which  her  own  example  was  so  emi- 
nent. In  his  last  illness,  which  was  of  long  du- 
ration, she  attended  him  with  indefatigable  assi- 
duity ;  and  performed  with  strictest  care  all  the 
offices  suited  to  thvit  melancholy  occasion.  Af- 
ter he  expired,  she  could  scarce  be  persuaded  to 
quit  his  breathless  clay,  and  testified  her  sincere 
regard  for  his  memory,  by  continuing  in  a  state 
of  perpetual  widowhood. 

In  domestic  life  her  behaviour  was  amiably 
condescending  and  affable,  she  treated  her  ser- 
vants with  the  utmost  kindness,  caused  every 
thing  nutritive  and  medicinal  to  be  administered 
to  them  when  they  laboured  under  any  sickness^ 


LIFE  OP  MRS.  ROWE.  5?' 

and  did  not  think  it  a  degradation  to  sit  by  their 
bed-side  and  read  to  thenri  irom  books  of"  piety 
and  devotion.  As  she  was  so  excellent  a  mis- 
tress, she  rarely  had  cause  to  dismiss  her  ser- 
vants, who  seldom  left  her  but  with  a  view  of 
changing  their  condition  by  marriages.  She  had 
a  due  sense  of  fidelity  in  servants,  and  reposed  an 
unlimited  confidence  in  those  who  had  given 
proof  of  their  possessing  that  commendatory 
qualification^ 

In  her  friendships  she  was  warm,  generous  and 
sincere  ;  happy  in  finding  merit  to  commend  in 
those  whom  she  respected  ;  and  tender  and  can- 
did in  reproving  their  errors.  It  afforded  her 
peculiar  satisfaction  to  render  them  services ; 
but  her  grand  aim  and  principal  endeavour  was 
to  instil  into  their  minds  the  love  of  virtue,  and 
direct  their  attentions  to  their  most  important  in- 
terests, which  could  not  be  essentiallj-  promoted 
but  by  a  true  regard  to  the  doctrine  and  practice 
of  the  christian  religion.  In  this  momentous 
pursuit,  she  contributed  to  accelerate  their  pro- 
gress, by  her  own  precept  Ttnd  example,  and 
thereby  exhibited  the  most  unquestionable  test  of 
real  friendship. 

As  the  most  immaculate  character  is  not  free 
from  the  shafts  of  envy  and  malice,  Mrs.  Rowe, 
highly  amiable  as  she  was  m  her  general  conduct, 
escaped  not  the  slander  of  malevolence,  which 
branded  her  v/ith  the  taint  of  enthusiasm  and 
hypocrisy  ;  but  this  she  sustained  through  the 
support  of  conscious  innocence,  and  so  far  from 
entertaining  even  an  idea  of  resentment,  con- 
sidered it  only  as  affording  her  an  opportunity 
for  the  exercise  of  the  godlike  virtue  of  forgive- 
ness. 


38  LIFE  OF  MUS.  ROWE. 

Her  charity  was  extensive  beyond  bounds  ;  to 
want  was  a  sufficient  recommendation  for  relief; 
she  could  not  pass  by  misery  and  indigence  with- 
out sympathy,  or  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  tlie  cry  of 
the  widow  or  the  orphan.  She  devoted  indeed 
the  greatest  part  of  her  income  to  acts  of  bene- 
vdlence,  and  found  the  highest  gratification  in 
denying  herself  the  luxuries  and  superfluities  of 
life,  that  she  might  be  conducive  to  the  happi- 
ness of  those  who  laboured  under  a  destitution  of 
its  comforts  and  its  necessaries. 

The  first  time  she  accepted  a  compensation 
from  the  bookseller  for  any  of  her  productions, 
she  generously  presented  the  whole  sum  to  a  fa- 
mily in  distress  ;  and  it  was  generally  believed 
that  she  applied  whatever  she  received  in  future 
on  the  same  account,  to  benevolent  and  charitable 
purposes.  It  is  said  that  upon  a  singular  occa- 
sion, when  she  had  not  by  her  a  sum  of  money 
large  enough  to  supply  the  necessities  of  another 
family,  which  she  much  respected,  she  readily 
sold  a  piece  of  plate  for  that  purpose,  a  circum- 
stance to  the  probability  of  v/hich  we  can  only  be 
reconciled  by  the  very  extraordinary  character  of 
whom  it  is.  related.  Though  she  was  not  much 
disposed  to  distribute  alms  in  the  street,  }  et 
when  she  went  abroad  she  would  furnish  herself 
with  pieces  of  coin  of  different  value  for  the  relief 
of  casual  objects,  observing  ^  that  it  was  fit  some- 
times to  give  for  the  credit  of  religion,  when  other 
inducements  were  wanting,  that  the  profession  of 
Christianity  might  not  be  charged  with  covetous- 
ness,'  a  vice  so  abhorrent  to  her  nature,  that 
scarce  any  grosser  kind  of  immorality  could  more 
effectually  exclude  from  her  friendship.  ^  I  never,' 
said  she,  '  grudge  any  money,  but  when  it  is  laid 


LIFE' OF  MRS.  ROWE.  3^ 

out  on  myself,  for  I  consider  how  much  it  would 
buy  for  the  poor.' 

Besides  the  sums  of  money  she  gave  away, 
and  the  great  number  of  religious  books  she  dis- 
pensed to  the  poor,  she  worked  with  her  own 
hands  to  clothe  the  necessitous  ;  it  being  her  fre- 
quent employment  to  make  garments  of  different 
kinds  and  proportions,  and  bestow  them  on  those 
who  were  destitute  of  raiment.  Her  feelings 
for  the  distresses  of  others  were  so  exquisite, 
that  she  was  often  seen  to  shed  tears  at  the  con- 
ditions of  the  unhappy.  But  these  were  /the 
tears  of  generous  compassion,  not  of  feminine 
weakness  ;  for  she  had  too  much  christian  forti- 
tude to  weep  ov^er  her  own  sorrows.  She  was 
indeed  so  sensibly  affected  with  the  state  of  the 
poor  when  they  laboured  under  sickness,  that  she 
not  only  sent  her  servant  to  know  what  relief  and 
comforts  they  stood  in  need  of,  but  visited  them 
herself  in  the  m.ost  wretched  hovels,  and  even 
when  they  v»rere  afflicted  with  malignant  and  con- 
tagious distempers. 

She  took  extreme  delight  in  contributing  to 
the  education^of  the  children  of  necessitous  pa- 
rents, whom  she  caused  to  be  taught  to  read  and 
work,  and  furnished  with  clothes,  bibles  and 
other  necessary  books.  Nor  did  she  confine  this 
charitable  institution  to  Frome  where  she  resid- 
ed, but  extended  it  to  a  neighbouring  village 
where  part  of  her  estate  lay.  If  she  met  occa- 
sionally in  her  walks  with  children  perfectly  un- 
known to  her,  and  found  that  the  poverty  of  their 
parents  prevented  them  from  sending  them  to 
schools,  she  added  them  to  the  number  of  those 
who  were  taught  at  hef  own  expence.  She  un* 
dertook  herself  the  task   of   instructing   these 


4t  LIFE  OF  MRS,  ROWE. 

children  in  the  principles  of  the  christian  reli- 
gion ;  and  nothing  could  exceed  the  grief  and 
concern  she  expressed,  if  any  of  them  deviated 
from  the  paths  of  virtue,  into  which  they  had 
been  conducted  through  her  patronage  ;  but  the 
joy  and  rapture  she  felt  when  any  of  them  disco- 
vered the  happy  effects  of  her  tender  care  for 
their  present  and  future  welfare. 

So  extensive  was  her  benevolence,  that  she 
subscribed  to  the  public  charity-school  at  Frorae, 
though  the  children  educated  therein  were  in- 
structed in  the  forms  of  religion  peculiar  to  the 
church  of  England,  from  which  she  took  the  li- 
berty to  dissent.  But  her  charity  was  not  con- 
fined to  any  particular  sect,  as  she  cordially  es- 
teemed sincere  christians  of  ever}'  denomina- 
tion. Nor  was  her  beneficence  limited  to  those 
who  from  their  extreme  indigence  might  be  lite- 
ralls'  denominated  poor^  for,  as  she  often  observ- 
ed, it  was  one  of  the  greatest  benefits  that  could 
be  done  to  mankind,  to  free  them  from  the  cares 
and  anxiety  that  attend  a  narrow  fortune,  and  in 
conformitv  to  tViis  observation,  she  was  frequent- 
ly known  to  make  considerable  presents  to  per- 
sons whose  circumstances  were  far  from  being 
jiecessitous. 

It  is  a  matter  of  surprise,  that  Mrs.  Rowe  out 
of  the  produce  of  a  moderate  estate  should  have 
been  able  to  perform  so  many  acts  of  benevo- 
lence, and  contribute  to  such  a  variety  of  chari- 
table  institutions:  indeed  she  expressed  her  own 
surprise  at  this  circumstance  to  an  intimate 
friend.  *  I  am  surprised,'  said  she,  ^  how  it  is 
possible  my  estate  should  answer  all  these  things, 
and  yet  I  never  want  money.'  In  this  she  seeni- 
ed  to  allude  to  the  goodness  of  divine   Provi- 


THE  PREFACE. 


THE  admirable  author  of  these  devotional 
papers  has  been  in  high  esteem  among  the  inge- 
nious and  polite,  since  so  many  excellent  fruits  of 
her  pen,  both  in  verse  and  prose,  have  appeared 
in  public.  Shj  was  early  honoured  under  the 
feigned  nam<-  of  Philomela^  before  the  world  was 
allowed  to  know  Miss  Elizabeth  Singeu,  by  the 
name  drawn  from  her  family <,  or  that  of  Mrs, 
Rovve,  which  she  acquired  by  marriage. 

Though  many  of  her  writings  that  were  pub- 
lished in  her  lifetime  discover  a  pious  and  hea- 
venly temper,  and  a  wrrm  zeal  for  religion  and 
virtue,  yet  she  chose  to  conceal  the  devotions  of 
her  htart  till  she  got  beyond  the  censure  and  the 
applause  of  mortals.  It  was  enough  that  God, 
whom  she  loved  with  ardent  and  supreme  affec- 
tion, was  witness  to  ail  her  secret  and  intense 
breathings  after  him. 

In  Feiruary  last  he  was  pleased  to  call  her  out 
of  our  world,  and  take  her  to  himself.  Some 
time  after  her  decease,  these  manuscripts  were 
transmitted  to  me,  all  inclosed  in  one  sheet  of 
paper,  and  directed  to  me  at  Newington,  by  her 
own  hand.  In  the  midst  of  theiir  I  found  her 
letter,  which  entreated  me  to  review  them,  and 
commit  them  to  the  press.  This  letter  I  have 
thought  necessary  to  shew  the  world,  not  so 
much  to  discover  my  right  to  publish  these  pa- 
pers, as  to  let  the  reader  see  something  more  of 
that  holy  and  heavenly  character  which  she 
maintained  in  a  uniform  manner^  both  in  life  and 
death. 

It  is  now  almost  thirty  years  ago  since  I  was 


^  PREFACE. 

honoured  with  her  acquaintance  ;  nor  could  her 
great  modesty  conceal  all  her  shining  graces  and 
accomplishments  ;  but  it  is  not  my  province  to 
give  a  particular  account  of  this  exceUent  woman, 
who  has  blessed  and  adorned  our  nation  and  our 
age.  I  expect  her  temper,  her  conduct,  and  her 
virtues,  wilf  be  set  in  a  just  and  pleasing  light 
among  the  memoirs  of  her  life,  by  some  near  re- 
lations, to  w^hom  the  care  of  her  poetical  pieces, 
and  her  familiar  letters,  is  committed. 

These  Devout  £xerches  are  animated  with  such 
fire  as  seems  to  speak  the  language  of  holy  pas- 
sion, and  discovers  them  to  be  the  dictates  of  her 
heart ;  and  those  who  were  favoured  with  ^her 
chief  intimacy  will  most  readily  beheve  it.  The 
style,  I  confess,  is  raised  above  that  of  common 
meditation  or  soliloquy  ;  but,  let  it  be  remem- 
bered, she  was  no  common  Christian.  As  her 
virtues  were  sublime,  so  her  genius  was  bright 
and  sparkling,  and  the  vivacity  of  her  imagina- 
tion had  a  tincture  of  the  muse  almost  from  her 
childhood.  This  made  it  natural  to-  her  to  ex- 
press the  inward  sentiments  of  her  soul  in  more 
exalted  language,  and  to  paint  her  own  ideas  in 
metaphor  and  rapture,  near  a-kin  to  the  diction 
of  poesy. 

The  reader  will  here  find  a  spirit  dwelling  in 
flesh,  elevated  into  divine  transports,  congenial 
to  those  of  angels  and  unbodied  minds.  Her  in- 
tense love  to  her  Cod  kindles  at  every  hint,  and 
transcends  the  limits  of  mortality.  I  scarce  ever 
met  with  any  devot^nal  writings  which  gave  us 
an  example  of  a  soul,  at  special  seasons,  so  far 
raised  above  everjLthing  that  is  not  immortal 
and  divine.  ^^  - 

Yet  she  is  consci(5l|&i»f  her  frailties  too.   She 


PREFACE.  <l? 

sometimes  confesses  her  folly  and  her  guilt  in  the 
sight  of  God,  in  the  most  affectirig  language  of  a 
deep  humiliation.  It  is  with  apathetic  sensibili- 
ty of  her  weakness,  and  in  the  strongest  langa  :.ge  of 
self  displacence,  she  bcvvaiis  her  offences  against 
her  Creator  and  Redeemer  ;  and,  in  ht!r  intervals 
of  darkness,  she  vents  her  painful  complaints  and 
mournings,  for  the  absence  of  her  highest  and 
best  Beloved. 

Let  it  be  observed,  that  it  was  much  the  fa- 
shion in  former  years,  even  among  some  divines 
of  eminence,  to  express  the  ferv^ours  of  devout 
love  to  our  Saviour  in  the  style  of  the  Song  of 
Solomon  ;  and  I  must  confess  that  several  of  my 
composures  of  verse,  written  in  younger  life, 
were  led  by  those  examples  unwarily  into  this 
track.  But  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  speak  the 
sense  of  maturer  age,  I  can  hardly  think  this  the 
happiest  language  in  which  Christians  should  ge* 
nerally  discover  their  warm  sentiments  of  reli- 
gion, since  the  clearer  and  more  spiritual  revela- 
tions of  the  New  restament.  Yet  still  it  must 
be  owned  there  are  some  souls  favoured  with 
such  beatifying  visits  from  heaven,  and  raptured 
with  such  a  flame  of  divine  affection,  as  more 
povverfully  engage  all  animal  nature  in  their  de- 
votions, and  constrains. them  to  speak  their  pur- 
est and  n^ost  spiritual  exercises  in  such  pathetic 
and  tender  expressions  as  may  be  perverselv  pro- 
faned by  unholy  construction.  And  the  bias  and 
propensity  towards  this  style  is  yet  stronger, 
where  early  impressions  of  piety  have  been  made 
on   the  heart  by   devout    writings  of  this   kind. 

It  should  be  remembered  also,  there  is  nothing 
to  be  found  here  which  rises  above  our  ideas. 
Here  are  none  of  those  absurd  and  incomprehen- 


48  PREFACE. 

•ihle  phrases  which  amuse  the  car  witti  souDdiii|r 
Vitiacv\  and  hold  reason  in  sovereign  contempt. 
Here  are  no  visionary  scenes  of  wiid  extrava- 
gance, no  afFectations  of  the  tumid  and  unmean- 
ing style,  which  spreads  a  glarmg  confusion  over 
the  understanding  ;  nothing  ihac  leads  the  reader 
into  the  region  of  those  m  v  stical  shadows  and 
darkn_ess  vvhich  abound  in  the  Humish  writers, 
under  the  pretence  of  refined  light  and  sublime 
ecstacy.  Nor  is  the  character  or  this  ingenious 
author  to  be  bkmished  wiih  any  o;her  reproaches, 
which  have  been  sometiines  cast  on  such  sort  of 
meditations. 

I  know  it  hath  been  said  that  this  language  of 
Tapture,  addressed  to  the  Deity,  is  bui  a  new 
track  given  to  the  flow  of  the  softer  powers,  af» 
ter  the  disappoincment  of  some  meaner  love  ;  or, 
at  least,  it  is  owing  to  the  wrnt  of  a  proper  ob- 
ject and  opportunity  to  ftx  those  tender  passions. 
But  this  cannot  be  ciliowed  to  be  the  case  here  ; 
for,  as  Mrs.  Rowe  had  been  sought  early  by  se- 
veral lovers,  so  she  spent  several  years  of  yoimg- 
er  life  in  the  connubial  state  wiih  a  gentleman  of 
such  acrouiplishments,  and  such  circumstances, 
that  he  was  well  fitted  to  be  a  partner  of  her  joys 
and  cares. 

I  know  also  that  this  soft  and  passionate  turn 
of  religious  meaitation  has  sometimes  been  im- 
puted to  injviries  and  ill  treatment  in  the  marri- 
age state,  whereby  the  same  affections  are  wean- 
ed from  an  undeserving  object,  and  poured  out  in 
amorous  Luiguage  upon  an  object  supremely 
worthy  and  diviae.  But  neither  has  this  reproach 
any  pretence  in  the  present  case  :  that  happ  v  pair 
had  souls  so  near  a-kin  to  each  oiher,  that  they 
persevered  inuncommon  amit)  and  mutual  satis* 


PREFACE.  49 

faction  so  long  as  Providenee  favoured  him  with 
life.  It  is  sufficiently  evident,  then,  that  in  these 
meditations  there  is  no  secret  panting  after  a 
mortal  love  in  the  language  of  devotion  and 
piety. 

Nor  yet  can  it  be  objected  that  it  was  any  dis- 
placence  and  peevishness  toward  other  things 
round  about  her  that  taught  her  to  express  her- 
self with  such  contempt  of  the  things  of  mortali- 
ty, and  all  the  gay  and  tempting  scenes  of  the 
present  state  ;  she  was  by  no  means  sour  and 
morose,  and  out  of  humour  with  the  world,  nor 
%yith  her  acquaintance  that  dwelt  in  it  ;  she  often 
conversed  freely  with  the  gay  and  the  great,  and 
was  in  high  esteem  among  persons  of  rank  andho- 
nour.  But  honour  and  rank  among  mortals, 
with  all  the  scenes  of  gaiety  and  greatness,  were 
little,  despicable,  and  forgotten  things,  while,  in 
her  devout  moments,  her  eye  and  her  heart  were 
fixed  on  God,  the  supreme  original  of  all  excel- 
lence and  all  honour. 

In  common  life  she  was  affable  and  friendly 
with  persons  of  every  rank  and  degree  ;  and,  in 
her  latter  years,  as  she  drew  nearer  to  heaven,  if 
she  avoided  any  thing,  it  was  grandeur  and  pub- 
lic appearances  on  earth.  But  she  never  so  con- 
cealed and  abstracted  herself  from  the  society  of 
any  of  her  feiiow-creatures  as  to  despise  the 
meanest  of  her  species.  She  ever  was  kind  and 
compassionate  to  the  distressed,  and  largely  libe- 
ral to  the  indigent.  Nor  did  she  neglect  the  dai- 
ly duties  of  human  life,  under  a  vain  imagination 
that  she  moved  in  a  higher  sphere,  and  vv  as  sera- 
phically  exalted  above  them. 

In  short,  there  is  nothing  in  these  papers  that 
can  justly  support  any  such  kind  of  censures^ 

E 


50  PREFACE. 

though  men  of  corrupt  minds  may  cover  the  Bi- 
ble itself  with  slander  and  ridicule.  Let  all  such 
readers  stand  aloof,  nor  touch  these  sacred  leaves, 
lest  they  pollute  th^m. 

Though  there  is  not  one  complete  copy  of 
verses  among  all  these  transports  of  her  soul,  yet 
she  ever  carried  with  her  a  relish  of  poesy  even 
into  her  sacred  retirements.  Sometimes  she 
springs  her  flight  from  a  line  or  two  of  verse, 
ivhichher  memory  had  impressed  upon  her  heart; 
sometimes,  from  the  midst  of  her  religious  ele- 
vations, she  lights  down  upon  a  few  lines  of  some 
modern  poet,  even  Herbert,  as  well  as  Milton, 
&c.  though  it  is  but  seldom  she  cites  theif  names  ; 
at  other  times  the  verses  seem  to  be  the  eflPusion 
of  her  own  rapturous  thoughts  in  sudden  melody 
and  metre,  or  at  least  I  know  not  whence  the 
lines  are  copied  :  but  she  most  frequently  does 
ms  the  honour  to  make  use  of  some  of  my  writ- 
ings in  verse,  in  these  holy  meditations  of  her 
heart.  Blessed  be  that  God  who  has  so  far  fa- 
voured any  thing  my  pen  could  produce,  as  to  as- 
sist so  sublime  a  devotion. 

From  the  different  appearances  of  the  paper 
and  ink  in  some  of  these  pieces,  as  well  as  from 
the  early  transcripts  of  several  of  them  among  her 
friends,  it  is  evident  they  were  written  in  her 
younger  days  ;  others  are  of  a  much  later  ori- 
ginal, though  there  is  but  one  that  bears  a  date, 
and  that  is  April  30,  1735.  They  seemed  to 
have  been  penned  at  special  seasons  and  occasions 
throughout  the  course  of  her  life.  A  few  of  them 
bear  the  corrections  or  additions  of  her  own  pen, 
which  discovers  itself  by  a  little  difference  of  the 
hand  writing. 

Though  she  was  never  tempted  away  from  our 


PREFACE.  51 

common  Christianity  into  the  fashionable  apos- 
tacics  of  the  age,  yet  1  am  well  informed,  from 
mr^ny  hands,  that  in  her  latter  years  she  entered 
with  more  zeal  and  affection  into  some  of  the 
peculiar  doctrines  of  the  gospel  ;  and  it  is  evi- 
dent that  some-of  these  devotional  pieces  have  a 
more  evangelic  turn  than  others,  and  probably 
niostof  those  were  composed  or  corrected  in  the 
latter  part  of  life.  The  opposition  which  has  of 
late  been  made  to  some  of  these  truths,  gave  oc- 
casion to  her  farther  search  into  them,  and  her 
zeal  for  them.  However,  I  have  placed  these 
papers  all  as  I  found  them  pinned  up  in  a  wrap- 
ping paper,  though  it  is  evident  from  plain  cir- 
cumstances, this  is  not  the  order  in  which  they 
were  written,  nor  is  that  of  any  great  impor- 
tance. 

Though  these  writings  give  us  the  aspirations 
of  a  devout  soul  in  her  holy  retirements,  v/hen 
she  had  no  design  to  present  the  public  with  them, 
yetthey  did  not  want  a  great  deal  of  adjustment 
or  correction  in  order  to  see  'the  light.  The 
numbers  and  the  titles  are  added  by  the  publish- 
er, as  well  as  the  breaks  and  pauses  which  give  a 
sort  of  rest  to  the  reader's  mind,  and  make  the 
review  more  easy.  Here  and  there  a  too  ventu- 
rous flight  is  a  little  moderated  ;  sometimes  a 
meditation  or  a  sentence  is  completed,  which 
seemed  very  imperfect,  or  a  short  line  or  two  in- 
serted to  introduce  the  sense,  where  the  language 
seemed  too  abrupt,  or  the  meaning  too  ,obscure. 
Her  soul  had  a  large  set  of  ideas  in  present  view, 
which  made  every  expression  she  used  easy  and 
perspicuous  to  herself,  when  she  wrote  only  for 
her  own  use,  though  sometimes  her  entire  sense 
might  not  be  quite  so  obvious  to  every  reader, 


52  PREFACE. 

without  a  little  introduction  into  her  tract  of  sen- 
timents. Upon  the  whole,  I  must  acknowledge 
I  was  very  unwilling  that  this  excellent  work 
should  lose  any  degree  of  elegance  or  brightness 
by  passing  through  my  hands. 

When  the  manuscript  came  first  under  my  re- 
visal,  I  read  it  over  with  the  eye  of  a  critic  and  a 
friend  that  I  might  publish  it  with  honour  to  the 
hand  that  wrote  it,  and  w^ith  religious  entertain- 
ment and  advantage  to  the  world ;  nor  was  this  em- 
ployment destitute  of  its  proper  satisfaction.  But 
never  did  I  feel  the  true  pleasure  of  these  medi- 
tations till  I  had  finished  this  labour  of  the  head^ 
and  began  to  read  them  over  again  as  devout  ex* 
ercises  of  the  heart:  then  I  endeavoured  to  enter 
more  entirely  into  the  spirit  of  the  pious  author, 
and  attempted  to  assume  her  language  as  my 
own.  But  how  much  superior  was  che  satisfac- 
tion which  I  received  from  this  review,  especially 
wheresoever  I  had  reason  to  hope  I  could  pro- 
nounce her  words  with  sincerity  of  soul  !  How 
happily  did  this  raise  and  entertain  all  my  pleas- 
ing passions,  and  give  me  another  sort  of  delight 
than  the  dry  critical  perusal  of  them,  in  order  to 
judge  concerning  their  propriety  !  But  I  confess 
also  it  was  an  abasing  and  mortifying  thought 
when  I  found  how  often  I  was  constrained  to 
drop  the  sublime  expression  from  my  lips,  or  for- 
bid my  tongue  tc)  use  it,  because  my  own  attain- 
ments sunk  so  far  beneath  those  sacred  elevations 
of  spirit,  and  fell  so  far  short  of  those  transcen- 
dent degrees  of  divine  affection  and  zeal. 

Let  me  persuade  all  that  p^^ruse  this  book  to 
make  the  same  experiment  that  I  have  done:  and 
when  they  have  shut  out  the  world,  and  are  read- 
ing in  their  retirements,  let  them  try  how  far 


PREFACE,  $3 

they  can  speak  this  la^hguage,  and  assume  these 
sentiments,  as  their  o;^n  :  and,  by  aspiring  to  fol- 
low them,  may  they  find  the  same  satisfaction 
and  delight,  or  at  least  learn  the  profitable  lessons 
of  self-abasement  and  holy  shame  :  and  may  a 
noble,  and  glorious  ambition  excite  in  their 
Breasts  a  sacred  zeal  to  emulate  so  illustrious  an 
example !  Whatsoever  ardours  of  divine  love 
have  been  kindVed  in  a  soul  united  to  flesh  and 
blood,  may  also/be  kindled  by  the  same  influences 
of  grace  in  oth^ir  spirits  labouring  under  the  same 
clogs  and  imp^ediments. 

But,  perhaps,  it  will  be  necessary  here  to  give 
a  caution  to  some  humble  Christians,  that  they 
should  not  rnake  these  higher  elevations  of  piety 
and  holy  joy  the  test  and  standard  by  which  to 
judge  of  the  sincerity  of  their  own  religion.  Ten 
thousand  saints  are  arrived  at  Paradise,  who  have 
not  been  favoured,  like  St.  Paul,  with  a  rapture 
uito  the  third  heaven,  nor  could  ever  arise  to  the 
affectionate  transports  and  devout  joys  of  Mrs. 
RowE  :  ^et  I  hope  all  serious  readers  may  find 
something  here,  which,  through  the  aids  of  the 
blessed  Spirit,  may  raise  them  above  their  usual 
pitch,  may  give  a  new  spring  to  their  religious 
pleasi^es  and  their  immortal  hopes,  and  there- 
by  re/iider  their  lives  more  holy  and  heavenly. 

That  the  publication  of  this  little  book  may  be 
favoured  with  the  divine  blessing  for  this  happy 
end,  is  the  sincere  desire  and  request  of  the  pub- 
lis/her,  as  it  was  the  real  motive  of  the  ingenious 
arid  pious  writer,  to  commit  them  by  my  hand  to 
tlae  public  view.  This  sufficiently  discovers  it- 
r*elf  in  the  following  letter. 

E  2   '  i 


54  PREFACE. 

To  the  Rev.  Dr.  Watts^  at  Newington^ 

SIR, 


THE  opinion  I  have  of  your  piety  and  judg- 
ment is  the  reason  of  my  giving  you  the  trouble 
of  looking  over  these  papers,  in  order  to  publish 
them,  which  I  desire  you  to  do  as  soon  as  you 
can  conveniently,  only  you  have  full  liberty  to 
suppress  what  you  think  proper. 

I  think  there  can  be  no  vanity  in  this  design  ; 
for  I  am  sensible  such  thoughts  as  these  will  not 
be  for  the  taste  of  the  modish  part  of  the  world  ; 
and,  before  they  appear,  I  shall  be  enth'ely  disin- 
terested in  the  censure  or  applause  of  mortals. 

The  reflections  were  occasioncdly  written,  and 
only  for  my  own  improvement ;  but  I  am  not  with- 
out hopes  that  they  may  have  the  same  effect  on 
some  pious  minds,  as  the  reading  the  experi- 
ences of  others  hath  had  on  my  soul.  The  ex- 
perimental part  of  religion  has  generally  a  great- 
er influence  than  its  theory  ;  and  if,  when  I  am 
sleeping  in  the  dust,  these  soliloquies  should 
kindle  a  flame  of  divine  love  in  the  heart  of  the 
lowest  and  most  despised  Christian,  be  the  glo- 
ry given  to  the  great  Spring  of  all  grace  and  be- 
nignity. 

I  have  now  done  with  mortal  things,  and  all 
to  come  is  vast  eternity — Eternity  !  how  trans- 
porting i^  the  sound  !  As  long  as  God  exists,  my 
being  and  happiness  is  secure.  These  unbound- 
ed desires,  which  the  wide  creation  cannot  limit, 
shall  be  satisfied  for  ever.  I  shall  drink  at  the 
fountain  head  of  pleasure,  and  be  refreshed  with 
the  emanations  of  original  life  and  joy.     I  shall 


preface;  55 

hear  the  voi'ce  of  uiicreatetl  harmony  speaking 
peace  and  ineffable  coiisolation  to  my  soul. 

I  expect  eternal  li/e,  not  as  a  reward  of  merit, 
but  a  pure  act  of  bounty.  Detesting  myself  in 
every  view  I  can  take,  I  fly  to  the  righteousness 
and  atonement  of  my  great  Redeemer  for  par- 
don and  salvation  ;  this  is  my  only  consolatibn 
and  hope.  "  Enter  not  into  judgment  with  thy 
servant,  O  Lord  5  for  in  thy  sight  shall  no  man 
be  justified." 

Through  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  I  hope  for  an 
entire  victory  over  the  last  enemy,  and  that  be- 
fore this  comes  to  you  I  shall  have  reached  the 
celestial  heights,  and  while  you  are  reading  these 
lines,  I  shaii  be  adoring  before  the  throne  of 
God,  where  faith  shall  be  turned  into  vision,  and 
these  languishing  desires  satisfied  wnth  the  full 
fruition  of  ianimortal  love.  Adieu  ! 

ELIZABETH    ROWE. 


DEVOUT 
EXERCISES  OF  THE  HEART,  ^c. 

I.  Supreme  Love  to  God* 

WHY,  O  my  God  !  must  this  mortal  struc- 
ture put  so  great  a  separation  between  my  soul 
and  thee  ?  I  am  surrounded  with  thy  essence,  yet 
I  cannot  perceive  thee  ;  I  follow  thee  and  trace 
thy  footsteps  in  heaven  and  earth,  yet  I  cannot 
overtake  thee  ;  thou  art  before  me,  and  I  cannot 
reach  thee  ;  and  behind  mc,  and  I  perceive  thee 
not. 

O  Thou,  whom,  unseen,  I  love,  by  what  pow- 
erful influence  dost  thou  attract  my  soul  ?  The 
eye  has  not  seen,  nor  the  ear  heard,  nor  has  it 
entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive  what 
thou  art  ;  and  yet  I  love  thee  beyond  all  that 
mine  eye  has  seen,  or  my  ear  heard  ;  beyond  all 
that  my  heart  can  comprehend.  Thou  dweilest 
in  the  heights  of  glory,  to  which  no  human 
thoughts  can  soar,  and  yet  thou  art  more  near  and 
iniimate  to  my  soul  than  any  of  the  objects  of 
sense.  These  ears  have  never  heard  thy  voice, 
and  yet  I  am  better  acquainted  with  thee,  and 
can  rely  on  thee  with  more  confidence  than  on 
the  dearest  friend  I  have  on  the  earth. 

My  heart  cleaves  to  thee,  O  Lord,  as  its  only 
refuge,  and  finds  in  thee  a  secret  and  constant 
spring  of  consolation.  I  speak  to  thee  with  the 
utmost  confidence,  and  think  thy  being  my 
greatest  happiness  The  reflection  on  thy  ex- 
isl'rnceand  greatness  recreates  my  spirits  and  tills 
my  heart  with  alacrity  ;  my  soul  overflows  with 


DEVOUT  EXlERCISES.  57 

pleasure;  I  rejoice,  I  triumph 'in  thy  indepen- 
dent blessedn;  ss  and  absolute  donoiiiion.  H-ign, 
O  my  God,  for  ever,  glorious  and  uncontrolled ! 
I,  die  worm  of  the  earth,  wouid  join  mv  as- 
sent with  the  infinite  orders  above,  with  all  thy 
flamirg  ministers  who  rejoice  in  thy  kmgdom 
and  glory. 

The'  not  with  them,  thy  happier  race,  allow'd 
To  view  the  bnght  unveil'd  Divinity  ; 
By  no  audacious  j^lance  from  mortal  e\^es 
These  mvstic  f^'lories  are  to  be  profaii'd  ; 
But  yet  I  feel  the  same  immortal  fldme, 
And  love  thee,  tho'  unseen. 

I  love  thee.  Thus  far  1  can  speak,  but  all  the 
rest  is  unutterable  ;  and  I  must  leave  the  pleas- 
ing tale  untold,  till  I  can  talk  in  the  language  of 
immortality  ;  and  then  I'll  begin  the  transport- 
ing story,  which  shall  never  come  to  an  end,  bat 
be  still  and  still  beginning :  for  thy  beauties,  O 
thou  fau^est  of  ten  thousand  !  v/ill  still  be  new, 
and  shall  kindle  fresh  ardour  in  my  soul  to  all 
eternity.  The  sacred  flame  shall  rise,  nor  find 
any  limits  till  thy  perfections  find  a  period. 

I  love  thee  ;  and,  O  thou  that  knowest  all 
things,  read  the  characters  that  love  has  dra^vn  on 
my  heart!  What  excellence  but  thine,  in  heaven 
or  earth,  could  raise  such  aspirations  of  soul, 
such  sublime  and  fervent  affections  as  those  I 
feel  ?  What  could  fix  my  spirit  but  boundless  per- 
fection ?  What  is  there  else  for  whose  sake  I 
could  despise  all  created  gloty  ?  Why  am  I  not  ' 
at  resthere  among  sensible  enjoyments?  \¥hence 
arise  these  importunate  longings,  these  infinite  de- 
sires ?  Why  does  not  the  complete  creation  sa- 
tisfy, or  at  least  delude  me  w^iih  a  dream  of  hap- 


58  DEVOUT  EXERCISES. 

piness  ?  Whv  do  not  the  objects  of  sense  awarkc 
more  ardent  sentiments  than  things  distant  and 
invisible  ?  Why  shoald  I,  who  s-ay  to  eorriiption^ 
Thou  art  my  father^  aspire  after  an  union  with 
the  immense  Divinity  ? 

Ye  angels  of  God,  who  behold  his  face,  explain 
to  me  the  sacred  mystery;  teli  me  how  this  hea^ 
venly  flame  began  ;  unriddle  its  wondrous  gene- 
ration. Who  nath  animated  this  mort^  frame 
%vith  celestial  fire,  and  given  a  clod  of  earth  this 
divine  ambition?  What  could  kindle  it  but  the 
breath  of  God,  wjiich  kindled  up  my  soul  !  arid 
to  thee,  its  amiable  original,  it  ascends  ;  it 
breaks  through  all  created  perfection,  and  keeps 
on  its  restless  coarse  to  the  first  pattern  of 
beauty^ 

Ye  flowery  varieties  of  the  earth,  and  >ou 
sparkling  glories  of  the  skies,  your  blandishments 
are  vain,  while  I  pursue  an  excellence  that  casts 
a  reproach  on  all  your  glory.  I  would  fain  close 
my  eyes  on  all  the  various  and  lovely  appearances 
you  present,  and  would  open  them  on  a  brighter 
scene.  I  have  desires  vvhich  nothing  visible  can 
gratify,  to  which  no  material  things  are  suitable. 

0  when  shall  I  find  objects  more  entirely  agreea- 
ble to  my  intellectual  faculties  !  My  soul  springs 
forward  in  pursuit  of  a  distant  good,  which  I  fol- 
low bv  some  faint  ray  of  light,  that  only  glim- 
mers by  short  intervals  before  me  :  O  when  will 
it  disperse  the  clouds,  and  break  out  in  full  splen- 
dour on  my  soul ! 

But  what  will  the  open  vision  of  thy  beauties 
effect,  if,  while  thou  art  but  faintly  imagined,  I 
love  thee  with  such  a  sacred  fervour  !  to  what 
blessed  heights  shall  my  admiration  rise,  when 

1  shall   behold  thee  in   full  perfection ;    when 


DEVOUT  EXERCISES.  59 

I  shall  see  thee  as  thou  art,  exalted  in  majesty, 
and  complete  in  beauty  !  how  shall  I  triumph 
then  in  thy  glory,  and  in  the  privileges  of  my 
own  being  !  what  ineffable  thoughts  will  rise,  to 
find  myself  united  to  the  all-sufficient  Divinity, 
by  ties  which  the  sons  of  men  have  no  names  to 
express,  by  an  engagement  that  the  revolution  of 
eternal  vears  shall  not  dissolve  ?  The  league  of 
nature  shallbe  broken, and  the  laws  of  the  mingled 
elements  be  cancelled  ;  but  my  relation  te)  the  al- 
mighty God  shall  stand  fixed  and  unchangeable 
as  his  own  existence  :  Nor  life^  nor  deaths  nor  an^ 
geh'^  nor  principalities^  nor  powers^  nor  things  pre^ 
sent^  nor  things  to- come^  shall  ever  separate  me  from 
his  love,  ^^^  > 

Triumph,  O  my  soul,  and  rejoice  !  look  for- 
ward beyond  the  period  of  all  terrestrial  things. 
Look  beyond  ten  thousand  ages  of  celestial  bles- 
sedness ;  look  forward  still,  and  take  an  immea- 
surable prospect  ;  press  on,  and  leave  unnum- 
bered ages  behind,  ages  of  ineffable  peace  and 
pleasure  ;  plunge  at  once  into  the  ocean  of  bliss, 
and  call  eternity  itself  thy  own. 

There  are  no  limits  to  the  prospect  of  my  joy  ; 
it  runs  parallel  with  the  duration  of  the  infinite 
Divinity  ;  my  bliss  is  without  bounds  ;  O  when 
shiiU  the  full  possession  of  it  commence  ! 

II.   The  truth  and  goodness  oj  God* 

ENGRAV'D,  as  in  eternal  brass, 

The  rrtighty  promise  shines  ; 
Nor  can  the  pow'rs  of  darkness  raze 

Th/se  everlasting  lines. 
The  sacred  word  of  grace  is  strong 

As  that  which  built  the  skies  ; 
The  voice  (b  ^t  rolls  tlit^  scars  along 

Speaks  ail  the  promises. 


60  DEVOUT  EXERCISES. 

And  they  are  all  built  on  the  immutable  truth 
and  goodness  of  thy  nature.  Thou  d'>st  not  speak 
at  random  like  vaiu  men  ;  but  whatever  thou  hast 
engaged  to  perform  is  the  result  of  eternal  coun- 
sel and  design.  Thou  hast  uttered  nothing  that 
thou  canst  see  occasion  to  dter  on  a  second. re- 
view ;  thou  canst  promise  nothing  to  thy  own  da- 
mage, nor  be  a  loser  by  thy  utmost  liberality. 
Thou  art  every  way  qualified  to  make  good  thy 
eng-igements  by  the  fulness  of  thy  riches  and 
power.  _i 

Nor  hast  thou  any  necessity  to  flatter  thy  crea- 
tures, or  to  say  kmder  things  to  them  than  thou 
meanest  to  fulfil.?.,  Mi^tu^able. man  can  bring  no 
advantage  to  thee,  nor  ha^  He  any  thing  to  claim, 
from  thee.  By  what  b^nent  has  he  prevented 
thee  ?  By  what  right  can  he  dem.and  the  least  of  thy 
favours  ?  Thy  engagements  art:  all  free  and  un- 
constrained ;  founded  on  thy  own  beneficence, 
and  not  on  the  merits  of  thy  creature.  While  I 
consider  this,  my  expectations  rise,  I  set  no  li- 
mits to  my  hopes  ;  I  look  up  with  confidence, 
and  call  thee  my  Father^  and,  with  an  humble 
faith,  I  claim  every  advantage  that  tender  name 
imports.  My  heart  ion  fides  in  thee  with  stead- 
fastness and  alacrity  ;  tear  and  distrust  are  in- 
consistent with  my  thoughts  of  the  beneficence  of 
thy  nature. 

Everv  name  and  attribute,  by  which  thou  hast 
revealed  thyself  to  man,  confirms  my  faith.  Thy 
life,  thy  being,  is  engv^ged  :  I  may  as  well  ques- 
tion thy  existence  as  thy  faithfulness  :  as  sure  as 
thou  art,  thou  art  just  and  true.  The  protesta- 
tions of  the  most  faithful  friend  I  have,  cannot 
give  me  half  the  -.onsolation  that  thy  promises 
give  me.  I  hearvain  man  with  diffidence.  I  bid  my 


or  THE  HEART.  6i 

soul  beware  of  trusting  false  mortality  ;  but  I 
hear  thy  voice  with  joy  and  full  assurance. 

Thy  words  are  not  writ  on  sand,  nor  scattered 
by  the  fleeting  winds,  but  shall  stand  in  force 
when  heaven  and  earth  shall  be  no  more.  Eter- 
nal ages  shall  not  diminish  their  efficacy,  nor  al- 
ter what  the  mouth  of  the  Lord  hath  spoken.  I 
believe,  I  believe  with  the  most  perfect  assent : 
I  know  that  "  thou  art,  and  that  thou  art  a  re- 
warder  of  them  that  diligently  seek  thee  ;"  I 
feel  the  evidence,  for  thou  hast  not  left  thyself 
without  a  witness  in  my  heart. 

III.  Longing  ajter  the  Enjoyment  of  God. 

MY  God,  t?o  thee  my  sighs  ascend;  every 
complaint  I  make  ends  with  thy  name  :  I  pause, 
I  dwell  on  the  sound,  I  speak  it  over  again,  and 
find  that  all  my  cares  begin  and  end  in  thee. 
I  long  to  behold  the  supreme  beauty.  I  pant  for 
the  fair  original  of  all  that  is  lovely;  for  beauty 
that  is  yet  unknown,  and  for  intellectual  plea- 
sures yet  untasted. 

My  heart  aspires,  ray  wishes  fly  beyond  the 
bounds  of  creation,  and  despise  all  that  mortality 
can  present  me  with.     I  v/as  formed  for  celestial 
joys  and  find  mys'^lf  capable    of  the  entertain- 
ments of  angels.    V/hy  may  I  not  begin  my  hea- 
ven  below,  and  taste   at  least  of  the  springs  of 
pleasure  that  fiow  from  thy  right  hand  for  ever? 
Should   I  drink   my  fill,   these  fountains    are 
still  exhaustless  ;   millions  of  happy  souls  quench 
their  infinite  desires  there  ;  millions    of  happy 
orders  of  beings  gaze  on  thy  beauty,  and  are 
mide  partakers  oTthy  blessedness  ;  but  thou  rtrt 
stUi  undiminished  :  no  liberality  can  waste  the 
store  of  thy  perfection  ;  it  has  flowed  from  eter- 

F 


62  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

nity,  and  runs  for  ever  fresh  ;  and  why  must  I 
perish  tor  want ! 

My  thirsty  soul  pines  for  the  waters  of  life  : 
Oh  !  w^ho  will  refresh  me  w4th  the  pleasurable 
draugjit  ?  How  long  shall  1  w^ander  in  this  de- 
sert land,  where  every  prospect  is  w^aste  and  bar- 
ren ?  I  look  round  me  in  vain  and  sigh  still  un- 
satisfied. Ch  !  who  will  lead  me  to  the  still  wa- 
ters, and  make  me  repose  in  green  pastures, 
where  the  weary  are  for  ever  at  rest !  How  tedi- 
ous are  the  hours  of  expectation  ! 

Come,  Lord,  my  head  doth  burn,  my  heart  is  sick, 

While  thou  dost  ever,  ever  stay  ; 
Thy  long  deferring  wounds  me  to  the  quick, 
My  spirit  graspeth  night  and  day  : 
O  shew  thyself  to  me, 
Or  take  me  up  to  thee. 

Dispatch  thy  commission  ;  give  me  my  work, 
and  activity  to  perform  it ;  and  let  me,  as  a  hire- 
ling, fulfil  my  day.  Lord,  it  is  enough  ;  what 
am  I  better  than  my  fathers  P  they  are  dead,  and 
I  am  mortal. 

I'm  but  a  stranger  and  a  pilgrim  here 

In  these  wild  regions,  wand'rin^  and  forlorn, 

Restless  and  sighing  for  my  native  home, 

Longing  to  reach  my  weary  space  of  life, 

And  to  fulfill  my  task.     O  haste  the  hour 

Of  joy  and  sweet  repose  !  Transporting  hope  I 

Lord,  here  I  am  waiting  for  thy  commands,  at- 
tending thy  pleasure  ;  O  speak,  and  incline  my 
ear  to  hear  ;  give  me  my  work,  let  me  finish  it, 
and  gain  my  dismission  from  this  body  of  sin  and 
4eath  ;  this  hated  clog  of  error  and  guilt,  of  cor- 


OF  THE  HEART.    •  60 

ruption  and  vanity.     Oh  !  let  me  drop  this  load, 
and  bid  these  scenes  of  guilt  a  final  adieu  ! 

I  have  waited  for  thy  ^>alvation^  0  Lord  ;  when 
wilt  thou  let  me  into  thy  holy  habitation  !  How 
long  shall  I  pine  at  this  distance  from  thee  !  What 
can  I  speak  to  shew  thee  my  pain,  to  utter  my 
anguish  when  I  fear  the  loss  of  my  God  !  O  speak 
an  assuring  word,  and  confirm  my  hope  ! 

Ti'ansporting  moment  !  wli:  a  wilt  thou  appear 
To  crown  my  hopes,  and  banish  all  my  fear  ? 

Again,  O  my  father  and  my  eternal  friend,  I 
breathe  out  mv  requests  to  thee  in  this  land  of 
fatigue  and  folly  !  What  is  this  life,  but  a  sorry, 
tiresome  round,  a  circle  of  repeated  vanities. 
Happiness  has  never  been  seen  in  it  since  sin  and 
folly  entered  ;  all  is  empty  appearance,  or  vain 
labour,  or  painful  vexation. 

Suffic'd  with  life,  my  languid  spirits  faint, 
And  fain  would  be  at  rest.     O  let  me  enter 
These  sacred  seats  ;  and  after  all  the  toil 
Of  life,  begin  an  everlasting  sabbath  ! 

Yet  again,  O  Lord,  I  ask  leave  to  tell  thee,  / 
have  waited  for  thy  salvation^  and  hourly  languish- 
ed after  the  habitations  of  my  God.  My  heart 
grows  sick,  and  I  almost  expire  under  these  de- 
lays. What  have  I  here  to  keep  me  from  thee  ? 
what  to  relieve  the  tedious  hours  of  absence  ?  I 
have  pronounced  all  below  the  sun  vanity  and 
vexation,  all  insipid  and  burdensome.  Amidst 
health  and  plenty,  friends  and  reputation,  thoa 
art  my  only  joy,  my  highest  wish,  and  my  su- 
preme delight.  On  thee  my  soul  fixes  all  her 
hopes  ;  there  I  rest  in  a  celesti^alm.     O  let  il 


^;> 


«4  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

Bot  be  broken  witli  earthly  objects  ;  let  me  live 
unmolested  with  the  cares  or  delights  of  sense  ! 

O  let  me  flee 


From  all  the  world,  and  live  alone  to  thee. 


IV.  God  my  Supreme  my  only  Hope. 

f 

Why  do  I  address  thee,  my  God,  with  no 
more  confidence  ?  Why  do  I  indulge  these  re- 
mains of  unbelief,  and  harbour  these  returns  of 
infidelity  and  distrust  ?  Can  I  survey  the  earth, 
€an  I  gaze  on  the  structure  of  the  heavens,  and 
ask  if  thou  art  able  to  deliver  ?  Can  I  call  in 
question  thy  ability  to  succour  me,  when  I  con- 
sider the  general  and  particular  instances  of  thy 
goodness  and  power  ?  One  age  to  another,  in 
long  succession,  hath  conveyed  the  records  of  thy 
glory.  In  all  generations  thou  hast  been  our  dwells 
ing  place :  my  fathers  trusted  in  thee^  and  -were  de^ 
livered.  They  have  encouraged  me,  mv  own  ex- 
perience has  encouraged  me,  to  trust  in  thee  for 
ever. 

The  sun  may  fail  to  rise,  and  men  in  vain  ex- 
pect its  light ;  but  thy  truth,  thy  faithfulness,  can- 
not fail ;  the  course  of  nature  may  be  reversed, 
and  all  be  chaos  again,  but  thou  art  immutable, 
and  canst  not  by  any  change,  deceive  the  hopes  of 
them  that  trust  in  thee.  I  adore  thy  power,  and 
subscribe  to  thy  goodness  and  fidelity  ;  and  what 
farther  objection  would  my  unbelief  raise  ?  Is 
any  thing  too  hard  for  God  to  accomplish  ?  Can 
the  united  force  of  earth  and  hell  resist  his  will  ? 


OF  THE  HEART.  65 

Great  God  !  how  wide  thy  glories  shine  I  "j 

How  broad  thy  kingdom,  how  divine  [  C 

Nature  and  miracle,  ^nd  fate  and  chance,  are  thine.     3 

Therefore  I  apply  myself  immediately  to  thee, 
and  renounce  all  the  terror  and  all  the  confidence 
that  may  rise  from  heaven  or  earth  besides. 

Not  from  the  dust  my  joys  or  sorrows  spring  : 
Let  ail  the  baleful  planets  shed 
Thdr  mingled  curses  round  my  head, 
Their  rtiingled  curses  1  despise 

Let  but  the  great,  th'  eternal  King 

Look  through  the  clouds,  and  bless  me  with  his  eyes. 

Let  him  bless  me,  and  I  shall  be  blessed  :  bless- 
ed  without  reserve  or  limitation  ;  blessed  in  my 
going  out  and  coming  in,  in  my  sitting  down  ai  d 
rising  up  ;  blessed  in  time,  and  blessed  to  ;.ll 
eternity.  That  blessing  from  thy  lips  will  influ- 
ence the  whple  creation,  and  attend  me  wherever 
I  am.  it  shall  go  before  me  as  a  leading  li^ht, 
and  follow  me  as  my  protecting  angel.  Whi  n  I 
lie  down  it  will  cover  me.  I  shall  rest  )jn  ath 
the  shadow  of  the  Mo^  High,  and  dwell  safely 
in  the  secrets  of  his  tabernacle. 

"  Thy  kingdom  ruleth  over  ail,  O  Lord  !  and 
thou  doest  according  to  thy  will  in  the  armies  of 
heaven,  and  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth." 
I  confess  and  acknowledge  thy  providence.  The 
v/ays  of  man  are  not  at  his  own  disposal,  but  all 
hi-  goings  are  ordered  by  thee  ;  all  events  are  in 
thy  hands,  and  thou  only  canst  succeed  or  dis- 
appoint his  hopes.  If  thou  blow  on  his  designs, 
they  are  for  ever  blasted  ;  if  thou  ble^iS  them,  nei- 
ther earth  nor  hell  can  hinder  their  success  ; 
therefore  I  applv    mv^plf  *!>>-:>-:  r^^-^r! .       -     ;  r; 


66  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

for  not  all  created  power  can  assist  me  without 
thee. 

Hence  from  my  heart,  ye  idols  flee, 

Ye  sounding  names  of  vanity  ! 

No  more  my  tongue  shall  sacrifice  "^ 

To  chance  and  nature,  tales  and  lies  :  C 

Creature,  without  a  God,  can  yield  me  no  supplies,  j 

Not  all  the  power  of  man  on  earth,  nor  angel  nor 
saint  in  heaven,  can  help  or  relieve  me  in  the 
least  exigence,  if  my  God  hide  himself,  and  stand 
afar  off  from  me.  Second  causes  are  all  at  thy  di- 
rection, and  cannot  aid  me  till  commissioned  by 
thee. 

Lord,  when  my  thoughtful  soul  surveys 
Fire,  air  and  earth,  and  stars,  and  seas, 

I  call  them  all  thy  slaves  : 
Commission'd  by  my  Father's  will. 
Poison  shall  cure,  or  balm  shall  kill ; 
Vernal  suns,  or  zephyr's  breath, 
May  burn  or  blast  the  plants  to  death, 

That  sharp  December  saves. 
What  can  winds  or  planets  boast 

But  a  precarious  pow'r  ? 
The  sun  is  all  in  darkness  lost. 
Frost  shall  be  fire,  and  fire  be  frost, 

When  he  appoints  the  hour* 

At  thy  command  nature  and  necessity  are  no 
more  ;  all  things  are  alike  easy  to  God.  Speak 
but  thou  the  word^  and  my  desires  are  granted  : 
say,  Let  there  be  lights  and  there  shall,  be  light. 
Thou  canst  look  me  into  peace,  when  the  tumult 
of  thoughts  raise  a  storm  within#  Bid  my  soul 
be  still,  and  all  its  tempests  shall  obey  thee. 

I  depend  only  on  thee  ;  do  thou  smile,  and  all 
the  world  may  frown :  do  thou  succeed  my  af- 


OF  THE  HEART.  W 

fairs,  and  I  shall  fear  no  obstacle  that  earth  or 
hell  can  put  in  rny  way.  Thou  only  art  the  object 
of  my  fear,  and  all  my  desires  are  directed  to 
thee* 

Human  things  have  lost  their  being  and  their 
names,  and  vanish  into  nothing  before  thee  ;  they 
are  but  shades  and  disguises  to  veil  the  active  Di- 
vinity. Oh!  let  me  break  through  all  these  se- 
parations, and  see  and  confess  the  great,  the  go- 
verning cause.  Let  no  appearance  of  created 
things,  however  specious,  hide  thee  from  my 
view  ;  let  me  look  through  all  to  thee,  nor  casta 
gliince  of  love  or  hope  below  thee.  With  a  holy 
contempt  let  me  survey  the  ample  round  of  the 
creation  as  lying  in  the  hollow  of  thy  hand,  and 
every  being  in  heaven  and  on  earth  as  immovea- 
ble by  the  most  potent  cause  in  nature,  till  com- 
missioned by  thee  to  do  good  or  hurt,  O  let  thy 
hand  be  with  me  to  keep  me  from  evil,  and  let 
me  abide  under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty  !  I 
shall  be  secure  in  thy  pavilion.  To  thee  I  fly  for 
shelter  from  all  the  ills  of  mortality. 


V.    God  a  present  Help^  and  ever  near^ 

THOU  wast  found  of  me,  O  my  God  !  when 
I  sought  thee  not,  and  wilt  thou  fly  me  when  I 
seek 'thee  ?  Am  I  giving  my  breath  to  the  wind, 
and  scattering  my  petitions  in  the  air  ?  Is  it  a 
vain  thing  to  call  upon  God,  and  is  there  no  pro- 
fit in  crying  to  the  Alnaighty  I  ^^  A;  t  thou  a  God 
afar  off^md  not  near  at  hand  r'^  is  there  any 
place  exempt  from  thy  presence,  any  distance 
whence  my  cries  cannot  reach  thee  ?  Can  any 
darkness  hide  me  from  thy  eyes  ?  or  is   there  a 


68  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

corner  of  the  creation  unvisited  by  thee.?  ^ost 
thou  not  fill  heaven  and  earth,  and  am  I  not  sur- 
rounded by  thy  immensity  ? 

Are  my  desires  unknown  to  th«e  ?  or  is  there  a 
thought  in  my  heart  concealed  from  thee  ?  Dost 
not  thou  that  hast  formed  the  ear,  hear  ?  Canst 
thou  forget  the  work  of  thine  own  hand  ?  or,  re- 
tired far  in  the^  heavens,  full  of  thine  own  happi- 
ness, canst  thou  leave  thy  creation  to  misery  and 
disorder,  helpless  and  hopeless  :  Are  the  ways 
of  man  at  his  own  disposal,  and  his  paths  undi- 
rected by  thee  ?  Is  calling  on  the  living  God  no 
more  than  worshipping  a  dumb  idol  ?  Canst  thou, 
like  them,  disappoint  and  mock  thy  adorers  ? 

Art  thou  unacquainted  with  the  extent  of  thy 
own  power,  that  thou  shouldst  promise  beyond 
thy  ability  to  perform  ?  or  artihou  ^'  as  a  man,  that 
thou  shoulcjst  lie,  or  the  son  of  man,  that  thou 
shouldst  re])ent  .^"  Is  thy  faithfulness  uncertain, 
and  thy  power  precarious  ?  Are  those  perfections 
imaginary  for  which  men  adore  thee,  and  thy  gra- 
cious names  insignificant  tides?  ^^  Do  the  chil- 
dren of  men  in  vain  put  their  trust  under  the  sha- 
dow of  thy  wings  ?  Art  not  thou  a  present  help 
in  the  time  of  trouble  V^  and  is  there  no  security 
in  the  secret  places  of  the  Most  High  ?  Whither 
then  shall  I  look  in  my  distress  ?  to  whom' shall 
I  direct  my  prayer  ?  from  whom  shall!  expect  re- 
lief, if  there  is  no  help  in  God  for  me  ? 

But,  oh  !  what  unrighteousness  have  my  fa- 
thers ever  found  in  thee  ?  what  injustice  can  I 
charge  thee  with  ?  what  breach  of  truth,  or  want 
of  pity  ?  Have  the  records  of  thy  actions  ever 
been  stained  with  the  breach  of  faidi fulness  ?  Art 
thou  not  my  only  hope,  and  mv  long  experienced 
support  ?   Have  I  ever  found  help  from  the  ■ 


OF  THE  HEART.  6S 

ture,  when  thou  hast  failed  me  ?  Have  I,  or  can 
I  have  a  greater  certainty  than  thy  word  to  de- 
pend on?  Can  any  other  power-defend  or  deliver 
like  thee  ?  Thou  art  ''  a  rock,  and  thy  work  i» 
perfect ;  for  all  thy  ways  are  judgment :  a  God 
of  truth,  and  wiihout  iniquity  :  just  and  right  art 
thou."  With  mv  last  breath  I  will  witness  to  thy 
truth  and  taithfi:»,lness,  and  declare  thy  goodness 
to  the  children  of  men. 


VI.     God^  an  alUmffident  Good^  and  rrnj  only 
Happiness* 

Why  is  my  heart  so  far  from  thee, 

My  God,  my  chief  delight  ? 
Why  are  my  thoughts  no  more  by  day 

With  thee,  no  more  by  night  ?  * 

Why  should  my  foolish  passions  rove  ? 

Where  can  such  sweetness  be 
As  1  have  tasted  in  thy  love, 

As  I  have  found  in  ihee? 

WHERE  can  I  hope  to  meet  such  joys  as 
thy  smiles  have  given  me  ?  where  can  I  find  plea- 
sure so  sincere  and  unaliayed  ?  When  I  have  en- 
joy^id  the  light  of  thy  countenance,  and  the  sense 
of  thy  love,  has  not  all  my  soul  been  filled  ? 
Have  I  found  any  want  or  emptiness  ?  Has 
there  been  any  room  left  for  desire,  or  any  pros- 
pect beyond,  besides  the  more  perfect  enjoyment 
of  my  God  ?  Have  not  all  the  glories  of  the 
world  been  darkened,  and  turned  into  blackness 
and  deformity  ?  Hov/  poor,  how  contemptible 
have  they  appeared  !  or  rather,  have  they  not  all 
disappeared  and  vanished  as  dreams  and  sha- 


T%  DEVOU  r  EXERCISES 

dows  in  the  noon  of  day,  and  under  the  blaze 
of  the  sun-beams  r  i  have  never  found  Batisfaetion 
in  any  thing  but  in  God  ;  why  then  do  i  wander 
from  him  .''  why  do  I  leave  the  fountain  of  living 
waters  for  broken  cisterns.^  why  do  I  ab«mdon 
the  full  ocean  in  search  of  shallow  streams  ? 
What  ac.ount  can  I  give  for  folly  like  this  I  I 
can  promise  myself  nothing  from  the  creatures  ; 
those  expectations  shall  deceive  ^e  no  more. 
^  ill,  thou,  my  God,  thou  art  the  only  object  of 
my  houc-s  and  desires  :  it  is  thou  only  canst  make 
me  happy. 

li  tiiou  frown,  my  being  is  a  curse  ;  thy  indig- 
nation is  hell  with  all  its  terrors.  Let  me  never 
feel  that,  and  I  defy  all  things  else  to  make 
me  miserable.  I  seem  independent  on  all  na- 
ture, to  thee  only  I  apply  myself.  Hear  me,  thou 
beneficent  Author  of  my  being,  thou  support  of 
my  life  ;  to  thee  I  direct  my  wishes,  those  de- 
sires which  thou  wilt  approve,  while  I  ask  but 
the  happiness  I  was  created  to  enjoy.  Oh  !  fix 
all  my  expectations,  on  thee,  and  free  me  fi^om 
this  levity  and  inconstancy. 

Look  gCiUly  down,  almighty  Grace, 
Prison  me  round  in  thy  embrace  ; 
Pity  the  heart  that  would  be  thine, 
And  let  thy  pow'r  my  Icve  confine. 

Suffer  me  never  to  start  from  thee  ;  such  a 
confinement  were  sweeter  than  liberty^ ;  "  Thy 
yoke  is  easy  and  thy  burden  light.''  I  shall  bless 
the  chain  that  binds  me  to  thee.  Oh  !  give  me 
such  a  view  of  thy  beauty  as  shall  fix  my  volatile 
heart  for  ever ;  such  a  view  as  shall  determine 
all  its  motions  ;  and  be  a  constant  conviction  how 
unreasonable  it  is  to  wandei*  from  thee. 


OF  THE  HEART.  71 

Is  it  that  I  relish  any  thing  beyond  thy  love  ? 
Oh  !  no.  I  appeal  even  to  tbee,  who  canst  not 
be  deceived,  and  knowest  the  inmost  secrets  of 
of  my  souL  Thou  knowest  where  the  balance 
of  my  love  falls,  and  that  my  wanderings  are  not 
deliberate,  that  it  is  not  by  choice  that  1  forsake 
thee.  I  grieve,  I  sigh  for  my  folly :  shouldst 
thou  forgive  me,  I  can  never  forgive  myself,  for 
I  know  it  is  inexcusable. 

I  want  nothing  when  I  am  possessed  of  thee  ; 
without  thee  I  want  all  things.  Thou  art  the 
centre  of  all  my  passions  ;  i  have  no  hope  but 
what  is  thine,  no  joy  but  what  flows  from  thee  ; 
my  greatest  fears  are  those  of  losing  thee  ;  my 
inmost  care  is  to  secure  thy  favour.  This  is  the 
subject  of  my  deepest  anxiety  ;  every  sigh  I 
breathe  ends  in  thy  name  ;  and  that  loved  name 
alone  allays  every  anguish  of  my  soul,  and  calms 
its  wildest  tempests. 

From  thy  frowns  or  favour  all  my  joys  or  sor- 
rows spring:  thy  frowns  can  make  me  infinitely 
miserable,  thy  favour  can  make  me  infinitely 
blessed.  I  can  defy  heli,  and  smile  in  the  face  of 
death,  whilst  I  can  call  thee  mifie.  My  God  ! 
still  let  me  ^less  the  sound,  and  part  v/ith  all 
things,  rather  than  renounce  my  property  in  thee; 
let  me  hold  it  to  my  last  breath,  and  claim  it 
with  my  expiring  sighs. 

Secure  of  thee,  nothing  can  terrify  my  soul ; 
all  is  peaceful  and  serene  within,  eternal  love  and 
immortal  pleasure  :  I  desire  no  more  ;  imag'na- 
tion  stops  here,  and  all  my  Welshes  are  lost  in 
eternal  plenty,  fdy  God  !  more  cannot  be  asked, 
and  with  less  I  should  be  infinitely  miserable. 
The  kingdoms  of  the  skies  should  not  buy  my 
title  to  thee  and.  ihy  love  :  the  blessedness  of  ail 


72  BEVOUT  EXERCISES 

creatures  is  complete  here,  for  God  himself  is 
blessed  in  himself  for  ever. 

What  can  I  add  ?  for  all  my  words  are  faint, 
Celestial  love  no  eloquence  can  paint ; 
No  mure  can  he  in  mortal  sounds  exprest, 
But  vast  eternity  shall  tell  the  rest. 


I 


VII.     A  Covenant  with  God, 

INCOMPREHENSIBLE     Being!    wha 

searchest  the  hearty  and  tr lest  the  reins  of  the  chiU 
dren  cf  mcn^  who  kno^vest  my  sincerity,  and  my 
thoughts  are  all  unveiled  to  thee  !  I  am  sur- 
rounded with  thine  immensity  ;  thou  art  a  pre- 
sent, though  mvisible,  witness  of  the  solemn 
affair  I  am  now  engaged  in.  I  am  now  taking 
hold  of  my  strength  that  I  may  make  peace  with 
thee,  and  entering  into  articles  with  the  Al- 
mighty God.  These  are  the  happy  days  long 
since  predicted,  when  '^  one  shall  sav,  I  am  the 
Lord's,  and  another  shall  call  himself  bv  the  name 
of  Israel,  and  another  shall  subscribe  with  his 
hand  to  the  Lord  ;  and  I  will  be  their  God,  and 
they  shall  be  my  sons  and  my  daughters,  saith'the 
Lord  Jehovah." 

With  the  most  thankful  sincerity  I  take  hold 
of  this  covenant,  as  it  is  more  fuHy  manifested 
and  explained  in  thy  gos))el  by  Jesus  Christ ; 
and,  hum.  ?lv  accepting  thy  proposals,  I  bind  my- 
self to  thee  by  a  sacred  and  everlasting  obliga- 
tion. By  a  free  and  deliberate  action,  I  do  here 
ratify  the  articles  which  v/ere  made  for  me  in 
my  baptism,  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son, 
and  the  Holy  Spirit  j  I  religiously  devote  myself 


OF  THE  HEART,  ft 

to  thy  service,  and  entirely  submit  to  thy  conduct, 
I  renounce  the  glories  and  vanities  of  the  w  orld, 
and  choose  thee  as  my  happiness,  my  supreme 
felicity,  and  everlasting  portion,  I  make  no 
articles  with  thee  for  any  thing  besides  ;  deny  or 
give  me  what  thou  wilt,  I  will  never  repine,  while 
my  principal  treasure  is  secure.  This  is  my  de- 
liberate, my  free  and  sincere  determination  ;  a 
determination  which  by  thy  grace,  I  will  never 
retract. 

Oh !  Thou,  by  whose  pov/er  alone  I  shall  be 
able  to  stand,  '^  put  th)'  fear  in  my  heart,  that  I 
may  never  depart  from  thee."  Let  not  the  world, 
with  all  its  flatteries,  nor  death,  nor  hell,  w^lth  all 
their  terrors,  force  me  to  violate  this  sacred  vow. 
Oh !  let  me  never  live  to  abandon  thee,  nor 
draw  the  impious  breath  that  would   deny  thee. 

And  now  let  surrounding  angels  witness  for 
me,  that  I  solemnly  devote  all  the  pov/ers  and 
faculties  of  my  soul  to  thy  service  ;  and  when  I 
presumptuously  employ  any  of  the  advantages 
thou  hast  given  me  to  thy  dishonour,  let  them 
testify  against  me,  and  let  my  own  words  con- 
demn me. 

Eliz.  RowE. 

Thus  have  I  subscribed  to  thy  gracious  pro- 
posals, and  engaged  myself  to  be  the  Lord's  ; 
and  now  let  the  malice  of  men,  asd  the  rage  of 
devils,  combine  against  me,  I  can  defy  all  their 
stratagems ;  for  God  himself  is  become  my 
friend,  Jesus  is  myall-sufficient  Saviour,  and  the 
Spirit  of  God,  I  trust,  will  be  my  Sanctifier  and 
Comforter. 

O  happy  day !  transporting  moment !  the 
brightest  period  of  my  life  !   Heaven  with  all  its 


74  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

light  smiles  on  me.  What  glorious  mortal  can 
now  excite  my  envy  ?  what  ^cene  to  tempt  my 
ambition  could  the  whole  creation  display  ?  Let 
glory  call  me  with  her  exalted  voice ;  let  pleasure, 
with  a  softer  eloquence  allure  me  ;  the  world,  in 
all  its  splendour,  appears  but  a  trifle,  while  the 
infinite  God  is  my  portion.  He  is  mine  by  as 
sure  a  title  as  eternal  veracity  can  confer.  The 
right  is  unquestionable  ;  the  conveyance  unalter- 
able ;  the  mountains  shall  be  removed,  and  the 
hills  be  dissolved,  before  the  everlasting  obliga- 
tion shall  be  cancelled. 


VIII.     A  Thank-offering  for  saving  Grace. 

"  BLESS  t^e  Lord,  O  my  soul !  and  all  that 
is  within  me  bless  his  holy  name :  bless  the  Lord, 
and  forget  not  all  his  benefits  ;  who  redeemed 
thy  life  from  destruction,  and  crowneth  thee 
with  loving  kindness  and  tender  mercy ;"  who 
brought  thee  out  of  the  mire  and  clay,  and  set 
thy  feet  upon  a  rock  ;  who  broke  thy  fetters,  and 
freed  thee  from  the  miserable  bondage  of  sin. 
I  lay  a  wretched  slave  pleased  with  my  chains, 
and  fond  of  my  captivity,  fatally  deluded  and 
undone,  till  love,  almighty  love,  rescued  me. 
Blessed  effect  of  unmerited  grace  !  1  shall  stand 
for  ever  an  illustrious  instance  of  boundless 
mercy  :  to  that  I  must  entirely  ascribe  my  salva- 
tion, and  thro'  all  the  ages  of  eternity  I'll  re- 
hearse the  wonders  of  redeeming  love,  and  tell 
to  listening  angels  what  it  has  done  for  my  soul. 

I'll  sing  the  endless  miracles  of  love  : 
For  ever  that  my  lofty  theme  shall  prove. 


OF  THE  HEART.  75 

My  glorious  Creator  !  why  did  I  employ  thy 
thought  before  I  had  a  being?  why  from  all 
eternity  was  an  immortality  designed  me,  and 
my  birth  allotted  me  in  a  land  illuminated  with 
the  rays  of  sacred  light  ?  I  might  have  been  in- 
voking the  powers  of  hell  with  detestable  cere- 
monies, instead  of  adoring  the  omnipotent  God. 
But  when  thousands  are  lost  in  these  delusions, 
why  am  I  thus  graciously  distinguished  ?  Instead 
of  being  born  among  the  shameful  vices  of  im- 
pious parents,  and  an  heir  to  their  curses,  why 
am  I  entitled  to  the  blessing  of  religious  ances- 
tors ?  why,  when  I  was  incapable  of  choice,  was 
I  devoted  to  the  God  that  '^  keeps  covenant  and 
mercy  to  a  thousand  generations  of  them  that 
fear  him  ?" 

Why,  when  I  knew  thee  not,  didst  thou  sus- 
tain me  ?  but  Oh  !  why,  when  I  knew  thee,  and 
rebelled  against  thee,  why  didst  thou  so  long 
suffer  my  ingratitude  ?  why  did  thy  watchful  pro- 
vidence perpetually  surround  me,  crossing  all  the 
methods  I  took  to  undo  myself?  why  was  I  not 
cursed  with  my  own  wishes,  and  left  to  the  quiet 
possession  of  those  vanities  I  delighted  in  ;  those 
toys  which  I  foolishly  preferred  to  all  the  trea- 
sures of  thy  love  ?  why  didst  thou  pursue  me 
with  the  offers  of  thy  favour  when  I  fled  thee  with 
such  aversion  ;  and  had  fled  thee  for  ever,  if  thou 
hadst  not  compelled  me  to  return  ? 

Why  did  the  Spirit  strive  so  long  with  an  ob- 
stinate heart,  which  resisted  all  its  motions,  and 
turned  thy  patience  into  provocation  and  guilt? 
why  am  I  not  undone  by  those  pleasing  snares  in 
which  I  have  seen  so  many  deluded  wretches 
perish  ?  Like  them  I  despised  the  unsearchable 
riches  of  thy  grace  ;  w^ith  them  I  had  been  con- 
tent to  share  the  sorry  portion  and  pleasures  of 


-76  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

this  world,  if  thou  hadst  let  me  alone,  and  I 
should  never  have  mquired  after  thee.  But  why 
wast  thou  found  of  one  that  sought  thee  not  ?  O 
v/hy !  but  '^  because  thou  wilt  be  merciful  to 
whom  thou  wilt  be  merciful." 

Therefore  again,  v/ith  astonishment  and  de- 
light, I  look  back  on  the  methods  of  thy  grace  ; 
and  again  I  consider  inysfeif  lost  in  an  ab^'ss  of 
sin  and  rnercy ;  when  there  was  no  eye  to  pity 
me,  no  hand  but  thine  to  assist  me,  thou  madest 
it  then  the  time  of  love. 

Never  was  grace  more  free  and  surprising  than 
thine  is  ;  never  was  there  a  more  obstinate  heart 
than  mine,  and  never  such  unconquerable  love  as 
thine.  How  gloriously  hath  it  triumphed  over 
my  rebellious  faculties ;  how  freely  has  it  can*» 
celled  all  my  guilt ! 

Could  I  have  made  the^least  pretence  to  me- 
rit, or  liPiVe  challenged  any  thing  from  thee,  the 
benefit  had  been  less  exalted  ;  had  there  been  any 
foundation  for  human  pride,  my  corrupt  heart 
would  soon  have  taken  the  advantage,  and  have 
robbed  thee  of  thy  honour,  by  ascribing  the  glo- 
rious work  to  the  strength  of  my  own  reason,  or 
a  natural  tendency  to  virtue  ;  but  here  my  vanity 
is  for  ever  silenced,  I  am  lost  in  the  boundless 
abyss.  O  height !  O  depth !  O  length  and 
breadth  immeasurable  !  ''  How  unsearchable  are 
thy  ways.  Almighty  Love^  and  thy  paths  past  find- 
ing out!" 

Let  me  here  begin  my  eternal  song,  and  as- 
cribe '^  salvation  and  honour,  dominion  and  ma- 
jesty, to  Him  that  sits  on  the  throne,  and  to  the 
Lamb  for  ever,"  who  has  loved  me,  and  ransom- 
ed me  with  his  blood  ;  ransomed  me  from  a  vo- 
luntary bondage,  from  the  most  vile  and  hopeless 


OF  THE  HEART.  n 

captivity,  a  captivity  from  which  nothing- but 
that  invaluable  purchase  could  have  redeemed 
me. 

Infinite  love  !  Almighty  grace  ! 
Stand  in  amaze,  ye  rolling  skies'! 

Bring  hither  your  celestial  harps,  ye  benefi- 
cent beings,  who  amidst  the  height  of  your  hap- 
piness, express  a  kind  regard  for  man  :  teach 
me  the  language  of  paradise,  the  strains  of  im- 
mortality. But,  oh !  it  is  all  too  feeble  ;  the 
tongues  of  seraphims  cannot  utter  what  I  owe 
mv  Redeemer,  From  what  misery,  my  adorable 
Saviour,  hast  tliou  rescued  me  !  From  error, 
from  sin,  from  snares  and  death,  from  infernal 
chains,  eternal  horror,  and  the  blackness  of  dark- 
ness for  ever. 

Nor  here  my  glorious  benefactor  stayed  \  but 
still  went  on  to  magnify  the  riches  of  his  grace, 
and  entitled  me  to  an  endless  inheritance,  and  an 
immortal  crown  ;  to  the  fruition  of  God,  and  the 
unutterable  joys  that  flow  from  his  presence. 

Mysterious  depths  of  boundless  love 

My  admiration  raise ; 
O  God,  thy  name  exalted  stands 

Above  my  highest  praise. 


IX.     Evidence  of  sincere  Love  to  God. 

IF  I  love  thee  not,  my  blessed  God,  I  know 
not  what  1   love  :   if  I   am  uncertain  of  this,   I 
am   uncertain   of  my  existence.     If  I  love  thee 
.ot,   what  is   the  meaning  of  these  pathetic  ex- 
pressions? My  God,  my  all!  thou  spring  of 

G  2 


7B  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

jny  life,  and  fountain  ©f  my  happiness !  my 
^reat  reward,  and  my  exceeding  joy  !  the  eter- 
nal object  of  my  love,  and  supreme  felicity  of 
my  nature  !  Does  not  my  heart  attend  my  lips 
in  all  this  language  ?  How  can  this  be,  if  my  soul 
does  not  love  thee  ? 

O  my  God,  if  I  love  thee  not,  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  this  constant  uneasiness  at  thy  absence  ? 
from  whence  proceeds  this  painful  anxiety  of 
mind  about  thy  love,  and  all  these  intense,  these 
restless  desires  after  thee  ?  ^^Why  are  all  the  satis- 
factions of  life  insipid  without  these  ?  Without 
my  God,  what  are  riches,  and  honours,  and  plea- 
sures to  me?  I  should  esteem  the  possession  of 
the  world  but  a  trifle,  or  rather  my  eternal  da- 
mage, if  it  must  be  purchased  with  the  loss  of 
thy  favour.  Thy  benignity  is  better  than  life, 
and  the  moments  in  which  I  enjoy  a  sense  of  thy 
love  are  the  only  happy  intervals  of  my  life. 
'Tis  then  I  live  ;  it  is  then  I  am  truly  blessed  :  it 
is  then  I  look  down  with  contempt  on  the  little 
amusements  of  the  world,  and  pity  them  that 
want  a  taste  for  these  exalted  pleasures. 

How  calm,  how  peaceful,  in  those  seasons,  are 
all  the  regions  of  my  soul !  I  have  enough,  1  ask 
no  more.  Can  they  languish  for  the  stream  who 
drink  at  the  overflowing  fountain  ?  I  have  all  the 
world,  and  more  ;  I  have  heaven  itself  in  thee  ; 
in  thee  I  am  completely  and  securely  blessed, 
and  can  defy  the  malice  of  earth  and  hell  to  shake 
the  foundation  of  my  happiness,  while  thou  dost 
whisper  thy  love  to  my  soul.  O  blessed  stability 
of  heart!  O  sublime  satisfaction!  Hast  thou 
not  told  me  that  tliou  art  mine  by  inviolable 
engagement,  when  my  soul  devoted  itself  sin- 
eerely  to  thee  ?    Does  not  thy  word  assure  me. 


Of  THE  HEART.  79 

"  that  the  mountains  shall  depart,  and  the  hills  be 
removed  ;  but  thy  kindness  shall  not  depart,  nor 
the  covenant  of  thy  peace  he  broken  V^ 

Hast  thou  not  terminated  my  wishes,  O  Lord, 
in  thyself,  and  fixed  my  wandering  desires  ?  Is 
it  for  riches  or  honour,  for  length  of  days,  or 
pleasure  that  I  follow  thee  with  daily  importuni- 
ties ?  Thou  knowest  these  are  not  the  subject  of 
my  restless  petitions :  do  I  ever  balance  these 
toys  with  thy  favour?  Oh!  no;  one  smile  of 
thine  obscures  all  their  glory.  When  thou  dost 
bless  my  retired  devotions  with  thy  presence,  I 
can  wink  all  created  beauty  into  blackness.  When 
I  meet  thee  in  my  solitary  contemplations,  with 
what  contempt  do  I  look  back  on  the  lessening 
world  ! 

How  dazzling  is  thy  beaiitv  !  how  divine  I 
How  dim  the  lustre  of  the  world  to   hine  I 

HowduU  are  its  entertainments  to  the  pleasures 
of  conversing  with  thee  !  Oh  !  stay,  in  those 
happy  moments,  cries  my  satisfied  soul : 

Stay,  my  Beloved,  with  me  here  : 
Stay  till  the  morning  star  appear; 
Stay  till  the  dusky  shad<nvs  fly 
Before  the  day's  illustrious  eye. 

Oh  !  stay  till  the  gloomy  night  of  life  is  past, 
and  eternity  draw  on  my  soul.  There  is  no- 
thing in  this  barren  place  to  entertain  me  when 
thou  art  gone :  I  can  relish  nothing  below,  after 
these  celestial  banquets. 

If  I  love  thee  not,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this 
impatience  to  be  with  thee  ?  '^  My  soul  longeth, 
yea  fainteth,  for  the  courts  of  the  Lord  ;  when 


m  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

shall  I  come  jand  appear  before  thee  ?  O  that  I 
had  the  \rings  of  a  dove,  for  then  would  I  fly 
away,  and  be  at  rest !" 


X.    Assurance  of  Salvation  in  Christ  Jesus, 

I  HAVE  put  my  treasures,  my  immortal 
part  into  thy  hands,  O  my  dear  Redeemer ;  and 
^^  shall  the  prey  be  taken  from  the  mighty?" 
shall  a  soul  consecrated  to  thcc  fall  a  sacrifice 
to  hell? 

Blessed  God,  am  I  not  thine?  and  shall  the 
temple  of  thy  spirit  be  profaned,  and  the  lips 
that  h?4ve  so  often  ascribed  dominion,  and  glory, 
and  majesty  to  thee,  be  defiled  with  infernal  blas- 
phemy, and  the  execrations  of  the  damned  ? 
Shall  the  sparks  of  divine  love  be  extinguished, 
^nd  immortal  enmit}'  succeed?  And  shall  I, 
who  was  once  blessed  with  thy  favour,  become 
the  object  of  thy  wrath  and  indignation  ?  Shall 
all  ihe  mighty  things  thou  hast  done  for  my  soul 
be  forgotten  ?  Shall  all  my  vows,  and  thy  own 
secret  engagements  be  cancelled?  'Tis  all  im- 
possible; for  ^'  thou  art  not  as  man,  that  thou 
shouldst  lie  ;  nor  as  the  son  of  man,  that  thou 
shouldst  repent."  Thou  art  engaged  by  thy 
own  tremendous  name  for  my  security:  my 
God,  and  mv  father's  God:  from  generation 
to  generation  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling  place. 
I  was  devoted  to  thee  in  baptism  hv  the  solemn 
vows  of  my  religious  parents  :  my  infant  hands 
were  early  lifted  up  to  thee,  and  I  soon  learned 
to  know  and  acknowledge-  the  God  of  my  fa- 
thers. I  have  a-^tnailv  subs,  rihed  with  my  hand 
to  the  Lord,  ^nd  am  ihine  by  the  most  voluntary 


*  OF  THE  HEART.  81 

and  deliberate  obligations.  The  portion  of  Jacob 
is  my  joyful  choice,  nor  need  1  fear  losing  it 
while  thy  word  is  established  as  the  heavens. 

The  Lord,  who  made  heav'n,  earth,  and  sea, 

And  all  that  they  contain, 
Will  never  quit  his  steadfast  truth. 

Nor  make  his  promise  vain. 

'Were  my  dependance  on  mvself,  I  were  un- 
done :  the  first  temptation  would  shake  mv  reso- 
lutions :  I  .should  sell  the  inestimable  riches  of 
thy  love  for  a  trifle,  and  fool  away  immortal 
pleasures  for  the  joys  of  a  moment  j  a  specious 
delusion  would  seduce  me  from  all  my  hopes  of  a 
glorious  futurity.  I  shall  fall  a  victim  to  my 
own  folly,  and  must  inevitably  perish  if  thou 
forsake  me  ;  but  the  strength  of  Israel  is  niy 
hope,  the  mighty  One  of  Jacob  my  defence. 

Thou  art  the  Rock  of  Ages  ;  the  fixed  and 
immutable  Divinity  is  mv  high  Tower  and  my 
Refuge,  my  Redeemer  and  almighty  Saviour. 
These  were  the  blessed,  the  glorious  titles  by 
which  thou  didst  at  first  assure  my  doubtful  soul: 
these  were  the  transporting  names  I  knew  and 
called  thee  by,  and  thou  hast  answered  them 
through  all  the  changes  of  my  life. 

I  was  thy  early  care  ;  thou  didst  support  my 
helpless  infancy,  and  art  the  watchful  guide  of  my 
unsteady  youth.  Which  way  soever  I  turn,  I 
mt:et  thy  mercy,  and  trace  thy  providence  ;  and 
so  long  as  I  live  I  will  record  thy  benefits,  and 
depend  on  thy  truth  for  those  benefits  which  have 
constantly  pur/>ued  me,  and  that  truth  which  has 
never  deceived  me,  and  is  engaged  never  to 
abandon  me.  Transporting  assurance  !  What 
further  security  can  I  ask,    what  security  can  I 


a2  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

wish,  beyond  eternal  veracity  ?  ''  The  moun- 
tains, shall  depart,  and  the  hills  be  removed; 
but  thy  kindness  shall  not  depart,  nor  the  cove- 
nant of  thy  peace  be  broken  ;"  that  covenant 
which  has  been  sealed  by  the  blood  of  the  Son 
of  God,  and  in  that  holy  sacrament  I  have  re- 
ceived the  pledges  of  thy  love.  Thou  didst 
graciously  invite  me  into  that  communion,  and 
met  me  there  v/ith  the  most  unmerited  favour. 

Fear  not,  sayest  thou,  poor  trembling  soul, 
for  I  am  thy  Redeemer,  and  thy  mighty  Saviour, 
the  Hope  of  Israel,  and  in  my  name  shall  all 
the  nations  of  the  earth  be  blessed  :  ^^  I  am  gra- 
cious and  merciful,  long  suffering,  and  abundant 
in  goodness  and  truth."  These  are  the  titles 
by  which  I  have  revealed  myself,  to  men.  I 
came  the  expected  Messiah,  the  Star  of  Jacob, 
and  the  Glory  of  the  Gentiles ;  I  came  from 
the  fulness  of  ineffable  glory,  in  the  form  of 
man,  to  redeem  the  race  of  Ada.m  ;  I  am  will- 
ing and  able  to  save,  ''  and  whosoever  comes  to 
me,  I  v/ill  in  no  wise  cast  away."  Fear  not :  I 
had  kind  designs  towards  thee  from  eternity  ; 
and  by  these  visible  signs  of  my  body  and  blood 
I  seal  my  love  to  thy  soul :  take  here  the  pledge 
of  heaven,  the  assurance  of  everlasting  happi- 
ness. 

'  ris  enough,  replied  my  transported  sonl ; 
divide  the  world  as  thou  v/ilt,  let  others  unen- 
vied  share  its  glory  ;  thy  love  is  all  I  crave.  I 
am  blessed  with  that  assurance,  I  am  surround- 
ed with  the  joys  of  paradise  ;  every  place  is  a 
heaven,  while  my  Beloved  is  mine,  and  I  am 
his. 


OF  THE  HEART.  85 

If  all  the  monarchs,  whose  command  supreme 
Divide  the  wide  dominion  of  this  ball, 

Should  offer  each  his  boasted  diadem, 
I  wouid  not  quit  thy  favour  for  them  all : 

These  trifles  with  contempt  I  would  resign  ; 

The  world's  a  toy  while  1  can  call  thee  mine. 

Let  God  and  angels  witness  for  me,  that  I  re- 
nounce the  world,  and  choose  thy  love  as  my 
portion;  witness  that  I  sacrifice  my  darling  sins 
to  thee;  and  from  this  moment  solemnly  devote 
myself  to  thy  service. 

Thus  did  I  engage  myself  to  be  the  Lord's, 
and  thus  didst  thou  graciously  condescend  to 
seal  the  privileges  of  the  new  covenant  to  my 
soul.  And,  O  let  the  solemn  transaction  never 
be  forgotten  !  let  it  be  writ  in  the  volumes  of 
eternity  ;  let  it  be  engraven  in  the  books  of  un- 
alterable destiny  ;  there  let  the  sacred  articles 
stand  recorded,  and  be  had  in  everlasting  re- 
membrance, 

XI.      Thou  art  ?ny  God. 

O  GOD  !  thou  art  my  God;  thou  art  thy 
own  blessedness,  the  centre  of  thy  owni  desires, 
and  the  boundless  spring  of  thy  own  happiness. 
Thou  art  immutable  and  infinitely  perfect,  and 
therein  consists  thy  blessedness  ahd  glory  ; 
but  that  thou  art  my  God  it  is  from  thence  flows 
all  m)'  consolation  ;  this  glorious  privilege  is  my 
dignity  and  boast.  '^  Thou  art  my  Gcd,  and  I 
will  praise  thee  ;  my  father's  God,  and  I  w^ill 
exalt  thee.  The  Lord  liveth,  and  blessed  be 
my  Rock,  and  let  the  God  of  my  salvation  be 
exalted.  Thy  benignity  is  better  than  life,  there- 
fore my  lips  shall  praise  thee." 


84  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

I  have  all  Aings  in  possessing  thee  ;  I  find  no 
want,  no  ^emptiness  within  ;  my  wishes  are  an- 
swered, and  all  my  desires  appeased  when  I  be- 
lieve my  title  to  thy  favour  secure.  Whatever 
tempests  arise,  whatever  darkness  surrounds  me, 
yet  thou  art  my  God ;  I  cry,  and  the  storms  are 
appeased,  and  the  darkness  vanishes.  I  find  my 
expectations  from  the  world  disappointed,  my 
friends  false,  and  human  dependance  vain  ;  but 
still  thou  art  my  God,  my  unfailing  confidence, 
my  rock,  my  everlasting  inheritance.  Death 
and  hell  level  their  darts  against  me,  but  with  a 
heavenly  tranquillity  I  cry,  *•'  Thou  art  my  God  : 
I  dwell  on  high  ;  my  place  of  defence  is  the  mu« 
nition  of  rocks. 

My  hiding-place,  my  refuge,  tow*r, 

And  shield  art  thr.n,  ()  Lord: 
I  firmly  anchor  all  m\  hopes, 

On  thy  unerring  word. 

While  thou  art  mine  what  can  I  fear?  Can  Om- 
nipotence be  vanquished?  Can  almighty  strength 
be  opposed  ?  When  it  can,  then  and  not  till  then, 
shall  I  want  security  ;  then,  and  not  till  then, 
shall  my  confidence  be  shaken,  and  my  hopes 
confounded. 

Thou  art  my  God.  Let  me  again  repeat  the 
glorious  accepts, andhear  the  pleasurable  sounds,* 
let  me  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  tunes  repeat 
it  ;  it  is  rapture  all,  and  harmony  :  the  harps  of 
angels  and  their  tongues,  what  notes  more  melo- 
dious could  they  sing  or  play  ?  What  but  these 
transporting  words  give  the  emphasis  to  all  their 
joys  ?  On  this  they  dwell,  it  is  their  eternal 
theme,   Thou  art  7ny  God.     Like  me,  every  se- 


OF  THE  HEART.  85 

raph  boasts  the  glorious  property,  and .  owes 
his  happiness  to  those  important  words  :  in  them 
unbouaded  jo;  s  are  comprehendctd.  Paradise  it- 
self, ail  heaven  is  here  described  ;  all  that  is  pos- 
sible to  be  uttered  of  celestial  blessedness  is  here 
contained* 

My  God  my  all-sufficient  good, 

iVIy  portion  and  my  choice  ; 
lu  thee  my  vast  desires  are  fiU'd, 

And  all  my  powers  rejoice. 

My  God,  n)y  triumph,  and  my  glory,  let  others- 
boast  of  what  they  will,  and  pride  themselves  in 
human  securities';  let  them  place  their  confi- 
dence in  their  wealth,  their  honour,  and  their  nu- 
merous friends  ;  I  renounce  all  earthly  depen- 
dance,  and  glory  only  in  my  God, 

From  him  alone  my  joys  shall  rise, 

And  run  eternal  rounds  ; 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  skies,    - 

And  all  created  bounds. 

When  death  shall  remove  all  other  supports, 
and  force  me  to  quit  my  title  to  the  dearest 
names  below,  in  my  God  I  shall  have  an  unchange- 
able property  •.  that  engagement  shall  remain 
firm,  when  I  shall  lose  my  hold  of  all  other  en- 
joyments; v.hen  all  human  things  vimish  w^ith  an 
everlasting  flight,  I  shall  bid  them  a  joyful  adieu, 
and  breathe  out  my  soul  with  this  triumphant 
exclamation.  Thou  art  my  God^  my  inheritance, 
my  eternal  possession  :  nor  death,  nor  hell,  shall 
ever  separate  me  from  thy  love. 

.  Thou  art  my  God.     Let  me  survey  the  extent 
of  my  blessedness  ;  let  me  take  a  prospect  of  my 


85  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

vast  possession  :  let  me  consider  its  dimensions  : 
O  height!  O  depth  i  O  length  and  breadth  im- 
measuiable  !  I  have  all  that  is -worth  possessing. 
Thou  art  7ny  God, 

But  what  have  I  uttered  ?  Is  mortality  permit* 
ted  to  speak  these  daring  words  ?  Can  the  race 
of  man  make  such  glorious  pretensions  ?  Thou 
thyself  canst  give  no  more  :  thou  that  art  thy  ow  n 
happiness,  and  the  spring  of  joy  to  all  thy  crea- 
tures J  w^ith  thee  are  the  fountains  of  pleasure  ; 
and  in  thy  presence  is  fulness  of  jov  ;  immortal 
life  and  happiness  flow  from  thee,  and  they  are 
necessarily  blessed  v.  ho  are  surrounded  with  thy 
favour  ;  thou  art  their  God,  and  thou  art  my  God^ 
to  everlasting  ages. 

Earth  flies,  with  all  the  charms  it  has  in  store  ; 
Its  snares  and  gay  temptations  are  no  more. 
Creatures  no  more  of  entity  can  boast, 
The  streams,  the  hills  and  tow'ring  groves  are  lost. 
The  sun,  the  stars,  and  the  fair  fields  of  light 
Withdraw,  and  now  are  banish'd  from  my  sight, 
And  God  is  all  in  all. 


XII,     Confession  of  Sin  ^  vjith  Hope  of  Pardon. 

BREAK,  break,  insensible,  heart  !  let  con- 
fusion cover  me,  and  darkness,  black  as  my  own 
guilt,  surround  me.  Lord,  what  a  monster  am 
I  become  !  How  hateful  to  myselt  for  offending 
thee  !  how^  much  more  detestable  to  thee,  to  tht  e 
against  whom  I  have  offended  !  Why  have  I 
provoked  the  God  on  whom  my  being  every  mo- 
ment depends  ;  the  God,  w^ho  out  of  nothing  ad- 
vanced to  me  a  reasonable  and  immortal  nature, 
and  put  me  in  a  capacity  of  being  happy  for  ever  ; 


OF  THE  HEART.  H7 

the  God  whose  goodness  has  run  parallel  with 
my  life  ;  who  huvS  preserved  me  in  a  thousand 
dangers,  and  kept  me  even  from  the  ruin  I  court- 
ed, and  even  while  I  repined  at  the  providence 
that  saved  me  ; 

How  often  has  he  recovered  me  from  eternal 
miserv,  and  brought  me  back  from  the  very  bor- 
ders of  hell,  when  there  was  but  a  dying  groan^ 
but  one  faint  sigh  between  me  and  everlasting 
perdition  !  When  all  human  help  failed,  and  my 
mournful  friends  were  taking  their  last  farewels  ; 
when  every  smiling  hope  forsopk  me,  and  the 
horrors  of  death  surrounded  me,  to  God  I  cried 
from  ihe  depths  of  misery  and  despair  ;  I  cried, 
and  he  was  entreated,  and  rescued  my  life  from 
destruction;  he  ''  brought  me  out  of  the  miry  clay, 
and  set  my  feet  upon  a  rock."  A  thousand  in« 
stances  of  thy  goodness  could  I  recount,  and  all 
to  my  own  confusion. 

Could  I  consider  thee  as  my  enemy,  I  might 
forgive  myself;  but  when  I  consider  thee  as 
my  best  friend,  my  tender  father,  the 
sustainer  of  my  life,  and  author  of  my  happiness, 
good  God  !  what  a  monstrous  thing  do  I  appear, 
who  have  sinned  against  thee  !  Could  I  charge 
thee  with  severity,  or  call  thy  laws  rigorous  and 
unjust,  I  had  some  excuse  :  but  I  am  silenced 
there  by  the  conviction  of  my  own  reason,  which 
assents  to  all  thy  precepcs  as  just  and  holy.  But, 
to  heighten  my  guilt,  I  have  violated  the  sacred 
rules  I  approve  ;  I  have  provoked  the  justice  I 
fear,  and  I  have  offended  the  purity  I  adore. 

Yet  still  there  are  higher  aggravations  of  my 
iniquity  ;  and  what  gives  me  the  utmost  confu- 
sion is  that  I  have  sinned  against  unbounded  love 


«8  ©EVOUT  EXERCISES 

and  goodness.  Horrid  ingratitude!  Here  lies 
the  emphasis  of  my  folly  and  misery  ;  the  sense 
of  this  torments  me,  can  I  not  sav,  as  much  as 
the  dread  of  hell,  or  the  fears  of  losing  heaven  ? 
Thy  love  and  tender  compassion,  the  late  pleas- 
iflg  subects  of  my  thoughts  are  on  this  account  be- 
come my  terror.  The  titles  of  an  enemy  and  a 
judge  scarce  sound  more  painful  to  my  ears,  than 
those  of  a  friend  and  a  benefactor,  which  so 
shamefully  enhance  my  guilt  :  those  sacred 
n^mes  confound  and  terrify  my  soul,  because 
they  furnish  my  conscience  with  the  most  ex- 
quisite reproaches.  The  thoughts  of  such  good- 
ness abused,  and  such  clemency  affronted,  seem 
to  me  almost  as  insupportable  as  those  of  thy 
wrath  and  severity.  O  whither  shall  I  turn  ?  I 
dare  not  look  upv/ard,  the  sun  and  stars  upbraid 
me  there.  If  I  look  downward,  the  fields  and 
mountains  take  their  Creator's  part,  and  heaven 
and  earth  conspire  to  aggravate  my  sins.  Those 
common  blessings  tell  me  how  much  I  am  in- 
debted to  thy  bounty  ;  but,  Lord,  when  I  recal 
thy  particular  favours,  I  am  utterly  confounded. 
What  numerous  instances  could  I  recount !  Nor 
has  my  rebellion  yet  shut  up  the  fountain  of  thy 
grace  :  for  yet  I  breathe,  and  yet  I  live,  and  live 
to  implore  a  pardon  :  Heaven  is  still  open,  and 
thethroneof  God  is  accessible.  But  oh!  with  what 
confidence  can  I  approach  it ;  what  motives  can 
I  urge,  but  such  as  carry  my  own  condemnation 
in  them  ? 

Shall  I  urge  thy  former  pity  and  indulgence  ? 
This  were  to  plead  against  mvself :  and  yet  thy 
clemency^  that  clemency  which  I  have  abused,  is 
the  best  argument  I  can  bring  ;  thy  grace  and 


OF  THE  HEART.  t9 

clemencfy,  as  revealed  in  Jesus,  the  Son  of  thy 
love,  the  blessed  Reconciler  of  God  and  man. 

O  whither  has  my  folly  reduced  me  ?  With 
what  words  shall  I  choose  to  address  thee  ? 
"  Pardon  my  iniquity,  O  Lord,  for  it  is  great. '^ 
Surprising  argument !  yet  this  will  magnify  thy 
goodness,  and  yield  me  an  eternal  theme  to  praise 
thee  :  it  will  add  an  emphasis  to  all  my  grateful 
songs,  and  tune  my  harp  to  everlasting  harmony. 
The  ransomed  of  the  Lord  shall  join  with  me, 
while  this  glorious  instance  of  thy  grace  ex- 
cites their  wonder,  and  my  unbounded  gratitude  : 
thus  shall  thy  glory  be  exalted. 

O  Lord  God,  permit  a  poor  worthless  creature 
to  plead  a  little  with  thee.  What  honour  will 
my  destruction  bring  thee  ?  what  profit,  what 
triumph  to  the  Almighty  will  my  perdition  be  ? 
Mercy  is  thy  brightest  attribute  ;'this  gives  thee 
all  thy  loveliness,  and  completes  thy  beauty.  By 
names  of  kindness  and  indulgence  thou  hast 
chosen  to  reveal  thyself  to  men  ;  by  titles  of  the 
most  tender  import  thou  hast  made  thyself 
known  to  my  soul :  titles  which  thou  dost  not 
yet  disdain,  but  art  still  compassionate,  -"  "" 
ready  to  pardon. 

But  that  thou  hast  or  wilt^^— g^f^*^^^^  O  my 
God!  aggravates  m\:  6^ilt.  And  v/ilt  thou^ 
indeed,  forgivt-  m«^-^  Wilt  thou  remit  the  gloomy 
score,  and  rej^^i^e  the  privilege  I  have  forfeited  ? 
Wondrous  love  !  astonishing  benignity  !  let  me 
never  live  to  repeat  my  ingratitude  ;  let  me  never 
live  to  break  my  penitent  vows ;  let  me  die  ere 
that  unhappy  moment  arrive. 


H  2 


90  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 


XIII.     The  Absence  of  God  on  Earth* 

WHAT  is  hell^  what  is  damnation,  but  an 
exclusion  from  thy  presence  ?  'Tis  the  want  of 
that  which  gives  the  regions  of  darkness  all  their 
horror.  What  is  heaven,  w^hat  are  the  satisfac- 
tions of  angels,  but  the  views  of  thy  glory  ? 
What  but  thy  smiles  and  complacence  are'  the 
springs  of  their  immortal  transports? 

Without  the  light  of  thy  countenance,  what 
4)rivilege  is  my  being  ?  what  canst  thou  thyself 
give  me  to  countervail  the  infinite  loss  ?  Could 
the  riches,  the  empty  glories,  and  insipid  plea- 
sures of  the  world  recompense  me  for  it  ?  Ah  ! 
no :  not  all  the  variety  of  the  creation  could  sa- 
tisfy fne  while  I  am  deprived  of  thee.  Let  the 
ambitious, "the  licentious,  and  covetous,  share 
these  trifles  among  themselves :  they  are  no 
amusement  for  my  dejected  thoughts. 

There  was  a  time  (but  ah  !  that  happy  time  is 
past,  those  blissful  minutes  gone)  when,  with  a 
modest  assurance,  I  could  call  thee  ^  my  Father, 
-^--^^  almighty  friend,  my  defence,  my  hope,  and 
my  ex^.._^  great  reward  :'  But  those  glorious 
advantages  Si^  i^^|.^  those  ravishing  prospects 
withdrawn,  and  to  my  ^.^mbling  soul  thou  dost 
no  more  appear  but  as  a  couo^arning  fire,  an  inac- 
cessible majesty,  my  severe  judgt,  qnd  my  omni- 
potent adversary ;  and  who  shall  deliver  me  out 
of  thy  hands  ?  where  shall  I  find  a  shelter  f-om 
thy  wrath  ?  what  shades  can  cover  me  from  thy 
all-seeing  eye  ? 

One  glance  from  thee,  one  piercing  ray, 
Would  kindle  darkness  into  day  : 


OF  THE  HEART.  91 

The  veil  of  night  is  no  disguise, 
Nor  screen  from  thy  all-searching  eyes : 
Through  midnight  shades  thou  find'st  thy  way, 
As  in  the  blazuig  noon  of  day, 

'  But  will  the  Lord  cast  ofF  for  ever  ?  Will  he 
be  favourable  no  more  ?  Has  God  indeed  forgot- 
ten to  be  gracious  V  Will  he  shut  out  my  prayer 
for  ever,  and  must  I  never  behold  my  Maker? 
Must  I  never  meet  those  smiles  that  fill  the  hea- 
venly inhabitants  with  unutterable  joys  ;  those 
smiles  which  enlighten  the  celestial  region,  and 
make  everlasting  day  above  ?  In  vain  then  have 
these  wretched  eyes  beheld  the  light ;  in  vain  am 
I  endued  with  reasonable  faculties  and  immortal 
principles  :  Alas  !  what  will  they  prove  but  ever- 
lasting curses,  if  I  must  never  see  tht  face  of 
God  ? 

Is  it  a  dream,  or  do  I  hear 
The  voice  that  so  delights  my  ear  ? 
Lo,  he  o'er  hills  his  steps  extends. 
Ana,  oouiiaiii^  fion,  the  ciifFs,  descends : 
Now  like  a  roe  outstrips  the  wind. 
And  leaves  the  panting  hart  behuid. 

*  I  have  waited  for  thee  as  they  that  wait  for 
the  morning,'  and  thy  returns  ar»^  more  welcome 
than  the  springing  day-light  alter  the  honors  of 
a  mdancholy  night ;  more  welcome  than  ease  to 
the  sick,  than  water  to^  the  thirsty,  or  rest  to  the 
weary  traveller  How  undone  was  I  without 
thee  f  In  vain,  while  thou  wert  absent,  the  world 
hath  tried  to  entertarn  me  :  all  it  could  oifer  was 
like  jests  to  a  dying  man,  or  like  recreations  to 
the  damned.  0\\  th  f:vo  ir  alone  f\>y  tranquil- 
lity depends  :  depriyed  of  that,  I  should  sigh  for 


n  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

happiness  in  the  midst  of  a  paradise  :  '  thy  lov- 
ing kindness  is  better  than  life/  And  if  a  taste 
of  thy  love  be  thus  transporting,  what  ecstacies 
shall  I  know  when  I  drink  my  fill  of  the  streams 
of  bliss  that  flow  from  thy  right  hand  for  ever ! 
But  when 

When  slrall  this  happy  day  of  vision  be  ?  ^ 

When  shall  1  make  a  near  approach  to  thee,  > 

Be  lost  in  love,  and  wrapt  in  ecstacy  ?  3 

Oh  !   when  shall  I  behold  thee  all  serene, 
Wichout  this  envious  cloudy  veil  between  ? 
^Tis  true,  the  sacred  elements*  impart  "^ 

Thy  virtual  presence  to  my  faithful  heart;  > 

But  to  my  sense  still  unreveal'd  thou  art.  j 

This,  though  a  great,  is  an  imperfect  bliss, 
To  see  a  shadow  for  the  God  I  wish : 
My  soul  a  more  exalted  pitch  would  fly. 
And  view  thee  in  the  heights  of  majesty. 


XIV.  Baniskment  from  God  for  ever, 

*   DEPART   from   me,   yo  c^^vaea  ^   Oh  !   let 

me  never  hear  thy  voice  pronounce  those  dreacl- 
ful  words.  With  what  terror  would  that  sentence 
pierce  my  heart,  while  it  thunders  in  my  ears  ! 
Oh  !  rather  speak  me  into  my  primitive  nothing, 
and  with  one  potent  word  finish  my  existence. 
To  be  separated  from  thee,  and  cursed  with  im- 
mortalitv,  vv^ho  can  sustain  the  intolerable^oom  .'' 

O  dreadful  state  of  black  despair. 

To  see  my  God  remove, 
And  flx  my  doleful  station  where 

I  must  not  taste  his  love-— 


The  Lord's  Supper 


OF  THU  HEART.  9S 

nor  view  the  light  of  thy  countenance  for  ever. 
Unutterable  woe  !  there  is  no  hell  beyond  it. 
Separation  from  God  is  the  depth  of  misery. 
Blackness  of  darkness,  and  eternal  night,  must 
Hiecessarily  involve  a  soul  excluded  from  thy 
presence.  What  life,  what  joy,  what  hope  is  to 
be  found  where  thou  art  not  ?  I  want  words  to 
paint  my  thoughts  of  that  dismal  state.  Oh  ! 
let  me  never  be  reserved  for  the  dreadful  expe- 
rience ?  rather  let  loose  thy  wrath,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment reduce  me  into  nothing. 

^'  Depart  from  thee!"  Oh!  w^hither  should  I 
go  from  thee  ?  ^^  Into  utter  darkness  ?"  That 
makes  no  addition  at  all  to  the  wretch's  misery 
that  is  banished  from  thy  face.  After  that  fear- 
ful  doom  I  should,  without  constraint,  seek  out 
shades  as  dark  as  hell,  being  most  agreeable  to 
my  own  despair,  and  in  the  horrors  of  eternal 
night  bewail  the  infinite  loss. 

The  remembrance  of  that  lost  happiness  would 
render  celestial  day  insufferable.  The  light  of 
paradise  could  not  cheer  me  without  thy  favour; 
the  songs  of  angels  would  but  heighten  my  an- 
guish, and  torment  me  with  a  scene  of  bliss 
which  I  must  never  taste.  The  sight  of  thy  fa- 
vourites, and  the  glories  of  thy  court,  would 
but  excite  my  envy,  and  fill  me  with  madness, 
while  I  considered  myself  the  object  of  thine 
eternal  indignation:  nor  could  all  the  harmony 
of  heaven  allay  the  horror  of  that  reflection. 

The  groans  of  the  damned,  and  the  darkness 
of  the  infernal  caverns,  would  better  suit  my 
grief.  I'here  to  the  cries  of  tormented  ghosts, 
and  to  the  sound  of  eternal  tempests,  I  might 
join  mv  wild  complaints,  and  lament  the  loss  of 
infinite  bliss,  and  curse  my  ov/n  folly.   But  all  the 


n  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

plagues  below,  if  I  might  speak  my  present 
thoughts,  bhould  rxOt  extort  a  blasphemous  re- 
flection on  the  divine  atiributes;  for  i  know  I 
deserve  eternal  misery,  and  even  in  hell  I  think 
I  should  confess  thy  justice.  Thy  long  experi- 
enced clemency,  1  am  sure,  ought  to  silence  my 
reproaches  lor  ever,  and  to  all  eternity  leave  thee 
unblemished  with  the  imputation  of  cruelty. 

But  oh!  what  agonies  would  the  remembrance 
ol  thy  foj  mer  lavours  excite?  what  exquisite 
remorse  would  it  give  me  to  recal  those  happy 
moments  when  thou  didst  bless  my  retired  de« 
votions  with  thy  presence  ?  After  1  had  relished 
those  divine  entertainments,  how  bitter  would 
the  dregs  of  thy  wrath  be?  Whither  would  thy 
frowns  sink  me,  after  1  have  enjoyed  the  light 
of  thy  countenance  ? 

If  I  must  lose  thy  favour.  Oh!  let  me  forget 
what  that  word  imports,  and  blot  for  ever  from 
my  remembrance  the  joys  th  it  a  sense  of  thy 
love  has  excited!  let  no  traces  of  those  sacred 
transports  be  left  on  m)  soul. 

But  must  I  depart  from  thee  into  everlasting 
fire?  Double  and  ^dreadful  curse!  and  yet  un- 
quenchable flames,  and  infernal  chains,  (if  I  can 
judge  in  this  life  of  such  awful  futurities)  would 
be  less  terrible  than  the  sense  of  those  lost  joys. 
That  loss  would  endure  no  reflection  ;  the  review 
would  be  for  ever  insufferable;  the  ages  of  eternity 
could  not  diminish  the  exquisite  regret;  still  it 
would  excite  new  and  unutterable  anguish,  and 
rack  me  Vv'lth  infinite  despair. 

Blessed  God,  pity  the  soul  whose  extremest 
horror  is  the  doom  of  an  eternal  departure  from 
thee.  Draw  mv  spirit  into  the  holiest  and  the 
nearest  union  v/ith  thyself  that  is  possible,  while  it 


OF  THE  HEART.  9$ 

dwells  in  this  flesh;  and  let  me  here  commence 
that  delightful  residence  and  converse  with  God, 
which  neither  death  nor  judgment  shall  ever  de- 
stroy, nor  shall  a  long  eternity  ever  put  a  period 
to  it. 


XV.     The  Glory  of  God  in  his  Works  of  Creation^ 
Providence^  and  Redemption. 

MY  being  immediately  flows   from    thee, 
and  should  I  not  praise  my  omnipotent  Maker? 
I  received  the  last  breath  1  drew  from  thee,  thou 
dost  sustain  my  life  this  Vv^y  moment,  and  the 
next  depends  entirely  on  thy  pleasure.     'Tis  thie 
dignity  of  my  nature  to  know,  and  my  happiness 
to  praise  and  adore  my  great  Original.     But,  oh! 
thou  Supreme  of  all  things,  how  art^hou  to  be 
extolled  by  mortal  man !   ^^  I  say  to  corruption, 
Thou  art  my  father,   and  to  the  worms,  Ye  are 
my  brethren.     My  days  are  as  an  hand's  breadth, 
and  my  life  is  nothing  before  thee ;  and  thou  art 
the  same,  and  thy  years  never  fail.     From  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting  thou  ai^^  God ;"  the  incom- 
prehensible, the  immutable  Divinity.     The  lan- 
guage of  paradise,  and  the  strains  of  celestial 
eloquence,  fall  short  of  thy  pv.rft  ctious;  the  first 
born   sons  of    light   lose    themselves   hi  blissful 
astonishment  in  search  of  thy  excellencies  ;  even 
the}',  with  silent  ecstacy,  adore  thee,  while  thou 
art  veiled  with  inefiable  splendour. 

The  bright,  the  bless'd  Divinity  is  known 
And  comprehended  by  himself  alone. 


96  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

Who  can  conceive  the  extent  of  that  power, 
whi^h  out  of  nothing  brought  materials  lor  a 
rising  world.,   and  Irom  a  gluomy  chaos,  bid  the 

harmonious  universe  appear  I 

Confusion  heard  thy  voice,  and  wild  uproar 
Stood  rui'd  ;  stood  vast  infinity  coiifin'd. 

At  thy  word  the  pillars  of  the  sky  were  framed, 
and  its  beauteous  arches  raised  ,  thy  breath  kin- 
died  the  stars,  adorned  the  moon  with  silver 
rays,  and  gave  the  sim  its  flaming  splendour. 
Thou  didst  prepare  for  the  waters  their  capacious 
be.d,  and  by  thy  power  set  boui.ds  to  the  raging 
billows  :  by  thee  the  vallies  were  clothed  in  their 
flowery  pride,  and  the  mountains  crowned  with 
groves.  In  all  the  wonderful  eff'eets  of  nature 
we  adore  and  coni'css  thy  power  ;  thou  utterest 
thy  voice  in  thunder,  and  dost  scatter  thy  light- 
ning abroad  ;  thou  ridest  on  the  w  ings  of  the 
wind,  the  mountains  smoke,  and  the  forests  trem- 
ble at  thy  approa:h  ;  the  summer  and  winter,  the 
sh:tdy  night  and  the  bright  revolutions  of  the  day, 
are  thine. 

These  are  thv  glorious  works,  parent  of  good ! 

Almisihi'  !  thine  this  miiversal  frame  : 

Thus  wonci'rous  they  I  thyself  how  wond'rous  then  I 

But,  O  what  must  thy  essential  majesty  and 
beautv  be,  if  thou  art  thus  illustrious  in  thy 
works  !  If  the  discoveries  of  thy  power  and  wis- 
dom are  thus  delightful,  how  transporting  are  the 
manifestations  of  thv  goodness?  From  thee  every 
thing  that  lives  receives  its  breath,  and  by  thee 
are  all  upheld  in  life.  Thy  providence  reaches 
the  least  insect ;  lor  thou  art  good,  and  thy  care 


OF  THE  HEART.  97 

extends  to  all  thy  works.  Thou  feedest  the 
ravens,  and^dost , provide  the  young  lions  their 
prey  :  thou  scatterest  thy  blessings  with  a  liberal 
hand  p,n  thy  whole  creation  ;  man,  ungrateful  man, 
largely  partakes  thy  bounty.  Thou  cause st  the 
rain  to  descend,  and  makest  thy  sun  to  shine  on 
the  evil  and  unthankful :  "  for  thou  art  good,  and 
thy  mercy   endureth  for  ever." 

As  the  Creator  and  Preserver  of  men,  thou 
art  gloriously  manifest  ;  but,  oh !  how  much 
more  gloriously  art  thou  revealed,  as  reconciling 
ungrateful  enemies  to  thyself  by  the  blood  of  thy 
eternal  Son  !  Here  thy  beneficence  displays  its 
brightest  splendour  ;  here  thou  dost  fully  disco- 
ver thy  most  magnificent  titles,  The  Lord^  the 
Lord  God^  inercijul  and  gracious^  long  ^yfftring^ 
and  ahiindant  in  goodness  I  ^^  How  unsearchable 
are  th)  ways,  and  thy  paths  past  finding  out !'' 
Infinite  depths  of  love,  never  to  be  expressed  by 
human  language  !  And  yet  should  man  be  silent, 
the  stones  themselves  would  speak,  and  the  mute 
creation  find  a  voice  to  upbraid  his  ungrateful 
folly.     ^ 


XVI.  Longing  for  the  coming  of  Christ.    - 

COME,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly:  oh! 
come,  lest  my  expectations  faint ;  lest  I  gro\T 
weary,  and  murmur  at  thy  long  delav.  I  am 
tired  with  these  vanities,  and  the  world  grows 
every  day  more  unentertaining  and  insipid  ;  it  has 
now  lost  its  charms,  and  finds  my  heart  insensi- 
ble to  all  its  allurements.  With  coldness  and 
contempt  I  view  these  trai  si  ory  glories  :  inspir- 
ed with  nobler   prospects,  and  vaster  expecta^ 

I 


^8  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

tions,  by  ^aitfi  I  see  .the  promised  land,  and 
every  day  brings  me  nearer  the  possession  of  my 
heavenly  inheritance.  Then  shall  1  see  God  and 
live,  and  face  to  face  behold  my  triumphant  Re- 
deemer : 

» 

And  in  his  favour  find  immortal  light. 

Ye  hours  and  days,  cut  short  your  tedious  flight  j 

Ye  months  and  years  ( if  such  allotted  be 

In  this  detested,  barren  world  for  me) 

With  hasty  resolution  roll  along ; 

I  languish  with  impatience  to  be  gone. 

I  have  nothing  here  to  linger  for  ;  my  hopes^ 
my  rest,  my  treasure,  and  my  joys  are  all  above  ; 
iny  soul  faints  for  the  courts  of  the  Lord,  in  a 
dry^nd  thirsty  land,  where  there  is  no  refresh- 
ment. 

How  long  "  shall  I  dwell  iif  Meshech,  and 
sojourn  in  the  tents  of  Kedar  ?"  Wlhen  will  the 
wearisome  journey  of  life  be  finished  ?  when 
shall  I  reach  my  everlasting  home,  and  arrive  at 
my  celestial  country  ?  My  heart,  my  wishes  are 
already  there  !  I  have  no  engagement  to  delay 
my  farewel,  nothing  to  detain  me  here ;  but 
wander  an  unacquainted  pilgrim,  a  stranger, 
and  desolate,  far  from  my  native  regions. 

My  friends  are  gone  before,  and  are  now  tri- 
umphing in  the  skies,  secure  of  the  conquest, 
possessed  of  the  rewards  of  victory.  They  sur- 
vey the  field  of  battle,  and  look  back  with  plea- 
sure on  the  distant  danger:  death  and  hell  for 
ever  vanquished,  leave  them  in  the  possession 
of  endless  tnmquillity  and  joy  ;  while  I,  beset 
with  a  thousand  snares,  and  lired  wkh  continual 
toil,  unsteadily  maintain  the  field,  till  active 
faith  steps  in,  assures  me  of  the  conquest,  and 


OF  THE  HEART.  99 

shews  me  the  immortal  crown !  'Tis  faith  tells 
me,  that  '^  light  is  .sown  for  the  righteous,  and 
gladness  for  the  upright  in  heart :"  it  assures  me 
that  "  my  Redeemer  lives,  and  that  he  shall  stand 
at  the  last  day  on  the  earth.  And  though  after 
my  skin  worms  destroy  this  body,  yet  in  my 
flesh  shall  I  see  God  :  whom  I  shall  see  for  my- 
self, and  not  another ;  and  these  eyes  shall  be- 
hold, though  my  reins  be  consumed  within  me. 
Amen,  even  so  come.  Lord  Jesus."  This  must 
be  the  language  of  my  soul  till  thou  dost  appear, 
and  these  my  impatient  breathings  after  thee. 
Till  I  see  thy  salvation,  my  heart  and  my  flesh 
will  pine  for  the  living  God. 

*'  Grant  me,  O  Lord  to  fulfil,  as  a  hireling, 
my  days  ;"  shorten  the  space,  and  let  it  be  full 
of  action.  'Tis  of  small  importance  how  few 
there  are  of  these  little  circles  of  days  and  hours, 
so  they  are  but  well  filled  up  with  devotion,  and 
with  all  proper  duty. 


XVIL     Seeking  after  an  absent  God, 

OH  !  let  not  the  Lord  be  angrv,  and  I,  who 
am  but  dust,  will  speak.  Why  dost  thou  with- 
draw thyself,  and  suffer  me  to  pursue  thee  in 
vain?  if  I  am  surrounded  with  thy  immensitv, 
why  am  I  thus  insens^ible  of  thee  ?  why  do  I  not 
find  thee,  if  thou  art  every  where  present  ? 
I  seek  thee  in  the  temple,  where  thou  hast  often 
met  me  ;  there  I  have  seen  the  traces  of  thv  ma- 
jesty and  beauty  ;  but  those  sacred  visions  bless 
Mny  sight  no  more.  I  seek  thee  in  my  secret  re- 
tirements, where  I  have  called  upon  thv  name, 
and  have  often  heard  the  whispers  of  thy  voices 


100  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

that  celestial  conversation  hath  often  reached  and 
raptured  my  soul ;  but  I  am  solaced  no  more 
with  his  divine  condescensions.  I  listen,  but  I 
hear  those  gentle  sounds  no  more  ;  I  pine  and 
languish,  but  thou  fleest  me  ;  still  I  wither  in 
thy  absence,  as  a  drooping  plant  for  the  reviv* 
ing  sun. 

O  when  wilt  thou  scatter  this  melancholy 
darkness  ?  when  shall  the  shadows  flee  before 
thee  ?  when  shall  the  cheerful  glory  of  thy  grace 
dawn  upon  my  mind  at  thy  approach  ?  I  shall  re- 
vive at  thy  light,  my  vital  spirits  will  confess 
thy  presence  ;  grief  and  anxiety  will  vanish  be- 
fore thee,  and  immortall  joys  surround  my  soul. 

Where  thou  art  present,  heaven  and  happiness 
ensue  ;  hell  and  damnation  fills  the  breast  where 
thou  art  absent.  While  God  withdraws,  I  am 
encompassed  with  darkness  and  despair  ;  the  sun 
and  stars  shine  with  an  imcomfortable  lustre  ; 
the  faces  of  my  friends  grow  tiresome ;  the 
smiles  of  angels  would  fail  to  cheer  my  languish- 
ing spirit.  I  grow  unacquainted  with  tranquil- 
lity ;  peace  and  joy  are  empty  sounds  to  me,  and 
words  without  a  meaning. 

Tell  me  not  of  glory  and  pleasure,  there  are 
no  such  things  without  my  God  ;  while  he  w^ith- 
draw^s,  what  delight  can  these  trifles  aff'ord  ?  All 
that  amuses  mankind  are  but  dreams  of  happi- 
ness, shades,  and  fantastic  appearances.  What 
compensation  can  they  makc^  for  an  infinite  good 
departed  ?  All  nature  cannot  repair  my  loss  : 
heaven  and  earth  would  offer  their  treasures  m 
vain;  not  all  the  kingdoms  of  this  world,  noi* 
the  thrones  of  archangels,  could  give  me  a  re- 
compense for  an  absent  God. 


OF  THE  HEART.  Itl 

O  where  can  my  grief  find  redress  !  whence 
can  I  draw  Satisfaction,  when  the  fountain  of 
jo\  seals  up  its  streams  ?  My  sorrows  are  hope- 
less till  he  return  ;  without  him  my  night  will 
never  see  a  dawn,  but  extend  to  everlasting 
darkness  ;  content  and  joy  will  be  eternal  stran- 
gers to  my  breast.  Had  I  all  things  within  the 
compass  of  creation  to  delight  nie,  his  frowns 
would  bhist  the  whole  enjoyment :  unreconciled 
to  God,  my  soul  would  be  for  ever  at  variance 
v/ith  itself. 

Even  now,  i^  hile  I  believe  thy  glory  hid  from 
me  but  vviih^a  transient  eclipse,  while  I  wait  for 
thy  return  as  for  the  dawning  day,  my  soul  suf- 
fers inexpressible  agonies  at  the  delay  ;  the  mi- 
nutes seem  to  linger,  and  days  are  lengthened 
into  ages:  but.  Lord,  what  keener  anguish 
should  I  feel,  did  I  think  thy  presence  had  totally- 
forsaken  me;  did  I  imagine  thy  glory  should  no 
more  arise  on  my  soul !  My  spirits  fail  at  the 
supposition:  I  cannot  face  the  dreadful  appre- 
hensions of  my  God  for  ever  gone.  Is  it  not 
hell  in  its  -  ost  horrid  prospect,  eternal  darkness, 
and  the  undying  worm,  infinite  ruin,  and  irre- 
parable damage?  Compared  to  this,  what  were 
all  the  plagues  that  earth  could  threaten,  or  hell 
invent  ?  What  is  disgrace,  and  poverty,  and 
pain  ?  what  is  all  that  mortals  fear,  real  or  imagi- 
nary evils  ?  they  are  nothing  compared  to  the 
terrors  which  the  thought  of  losing  my  God  ex- 
cites 

O  thou,  who  art  my  boundless  treasure,  my 
infinite  delight,  my  all,  my  ineffable  portion,  can 
I  part  with  thee?  I  may  see  without  light,  and 
breathe  without  air,  sooner  thim  be  blessed 
without  my  God.     Happiness  separate  from  thee 

I  2 


102  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

were  a  contradiction,  an  impossibility  (if  I  dare 
speak  it)  to  Omnipotence  itself.  I  feel  a  flame 
which  the  most  glorious  creation  could  not  satis- 
fy, an  emptiness  which  nothing  but  infinite  love 
could  fill.  I  must  find  thee,  or  weary  myself  in 
an  eternal  pursuit.  Nothing  shall  divert  me  in 
the  endless  search,  no  obstacle  shall  fright  me 
back,  no  allurement  withhold  me,  nothing  shall 
flatter  or  relieve  my  impatience  ;  my  bliss,  my 
heaven,  my  all  depends  on  the  success.  Shew  me 
where  thou  art,  O  my  God,  conduct  me  into  thy 
presence,  andlet  my  love  confine  me  there  for  ever. 


XVIII.     Appeals  to  God C07icerning  the  Siiprema* 
cy  of  Love  to  Him, 

O  GOD,  when  I  cease  to  love  and  praise 
thee,  let  me  cease  to  breathe  and  live  ;  when  I 
forget  thee,  let  me  forget  the  name  of  my  hap- 
piness, and  let  every  pleasing  idea  be  razed  from 
my  memory.  When  thou  art  not  my  supreme 
delight,  let  all  things  else  deceive  me  :  let  me 
grow  unacquainted  with  peace,  and  seek  repose 
in  vain  :  let  delusions  mock  my  gayest  hopes  ; 
let  my  desires  find  no  satisfaction  till  they  are 
terminated  all  in  thee.  When  I  forget  the  satis- 
faction of  thy  love,  O  my  God  !  let  pleasure  be 
a  stranger  to  my  soul ;  when  I  prefer  not  that  to 
my  chiefest  joy,  let  me  be  insensible  of  all  de- 
light y  when  thy  benignity  is  not  dearer  to  me 
than  life,  let  that  life  become  my  burden  and 
my  pain. 

Search  the  inmost  recesses  of  my  heart,  and 
if  thou  findest  any  competitor  there,  removed 
the  darling  vanity,  and  blot  every  name  but  thine 


OF  THE  HEART.  lO'S 

from  my  breast.  Let  me  find  nothing  but  emp- 
tiness in  the  creature,  when  I  forsake  the  all- 
sufficient  Creator ;  let  the  streams  be  cut  off 
when  I  wander  away  and  abandon  the  fountain. 
Let  me  be  destitute  of  assistance,  when  I  cease 
to  rely  on  thee  :  let  my  lips  be  for  ever  silent, 
when  they  refuse  to  acknowledge  thy  benefits, 
and  make  not  thee  the  subject  of  their  higher 
praise.  Let  no  joyful  strain  enter  at  my  ears, 
when  thy  name  is  not  the  most  delightful  sound 
they  can  convey  to  my  heart. 

I  have  been  pronouncing  heavy  curses  on  my- 
self, if  thy  love  be  not  my  chief  blessing  ;  yet, 
O  my  dearest  good,  my  portion,  and  my  only 
felicity,  might  I  not  go  on  farther  still,  and  even 
venture  immortal  joys  on  the  sincerity  of  my 
love  to  thee  ?  Blessed  Lord,  forgive  these  dan- 
gerous efforts  of  a  mortal  tongue,  which  are  the 
mere  out-breakings  of  a  fervent  affection.  I 
could  even  dare  to  pledge  all  my  hopes  and  pre- 
tensions to  future  happiness,  (and  O  let  not  my 
heart  deceive  me  !)  I  think  I  could  risk  them  all, 
if  thou  thvself  art  not  the  object  of  my  brightesli 
hopes,  and  the  light  of  thy  countenance  the 
height  of  that  expected  happiness. 

If  I  desire  any  thing  in  heaven  or  on  earth  in 
comparison  of  thee,  I  am  almost  ready  to  say, 
Banish  me  as  an  eternal  exile  from  the  light  of 
paradise  :  even  that  piiradise  would  be  melan- 
choly darkness  without  thee,  and  the  obscurest 
corner  of  the  creation,  blessed  with  thy  pre- 
sence would  be  more  agreeable.  Oh  !  where 
could  I  be  happy  remote  from  thee  ?  what  imagi- 
nable good  could  supph  thy  absence?  Say,  O 
my  God,  do  I  not  love  thee  ? 


104  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

Shall  I  call  the  holy  angels  to  witness  ?  shall  i 
call  ht^ayen  and  eixrth  to  witness  ^,s^ill  not  the 
most  high  God  himself,  the  possessor  of  heaven 
and  e^irth,  condescend  to  witness  the  ardour  and 
sincerity  of  my  love  ? 

With  what  pleasure  do  I  reflect  on  the  obliga- 
tions by  which  1  have  devoted  myself  to  thee  ! 
My  soul  collects  itself,  and  with  an  entire  ass  nt 
giv  s  up  all  its  powers  to  thee.  I  would  bind 
mvself  unto  tlite  beyond  all  the  ties  that  moitals 
ktiow^  Ye  ministei^  of  light,  give  me  your 
flames,  ar>d  t^  ach  me  your  celestial  forms  ;  let 
all  He  noble  and  pxithetic,  and  solemn  as  \  our  ow^n 
immortal  vows,  and  I  will  jovfully  go  through 
them  all  to  rnnd  rriyself  to  m}  God  for  ever.  Say, 
now,  ye  h-ivens  and  earth,  sw,  ye  holy  angels, 
and  O  thou  all  knowing  God,  say,  do  I  not  love 
thee? 


XIX.     A  dtv out  Rapture  ;  or^  Love  to  God  'dux- 

pressible. 

THOU  radiant  sun,  thou  moon,  and  all  ye 
sparkling  stars,  how  gladly  w^ould  I  leave  your 
pleasant  light  to  see  the  face  of  God  !  ye  crystal 
streams,  ye  groves  and  flowery  lawns,  my  inno- 
cent delights,  how  joyfully  could  I  leave  you  to 
meet  that  blissfid  prospect  !  and  you,  delightful 
faces  of  my  friends,  I  would  this  moment  quit 
you  all  to  see  him  whom  my  soul  loves  ;  so 
loves,  that  I  can  find  no  words  to  express  the 
unutterable  ardour.  Not  as  the  miser  Ipves  his 
W'ealth,  nor  the  ambitious  his  grandeur  ;  not  as 
the  libertine  loves  his  pleasure,  or  the  generous 
man  his  friend  ;  these  are  flat  similitudes  to  des- 


OF  THE  HEART.  105 

eribe  such  an  intense  passion  as  mine.  Not  as 
a  man  scorched  in  a  fever  longs  for  a  cooling 
draught ;  not  as  a  weary  traveller  wishes  for  soft 
repose  ;  my  restless  desires  admit  of  no  equal 
comparison  from  these. 

I  love  my  friend  ;  my  vital  breath  and  the 
light  of  heaven  are  dear  to  me  ;  but  s  ho  rid  I  say 
I  love  my  God  as  I  love  these,  I  should  belie 
the  sacred  flame  which  aspires  to  infinity.  '  1  is 
thee,  abstractly  thee,  O  uncreated  beautv  !  that 
I  love.  In  thee  my  wishes  are  all  terminaied; 
in  thee,  as  in  iheir  blissful  centre,  all  my  desires 
meet,  and  there  they  must  be  eternally  fixed : 
it  is  thou  alone  that  must  constitute  my  ever- 
lasting happiness.  Were  the  harps  (;f  angels  si- 
lent, there  would  be  harmony  for  me  in  the 
whispers  of  thy  love  :•  were  the  fields  of  light 
darkened,  thy  smiles  would  bless  me  with  ever- 
lasting day  ;  the  vision  ol  thy  face  will  attract 
my  eyes,  nor  give  me  leisure  to  waste  a  look  on 
other  objects  to  all  eternity%  any  farther  th  m 
God  is  to  be  seen  in  his  creatures.  All  their 
beams  of  grace,  and  joy,  and  glory,  are  derived 
from  thee,  the  eternal  Sun,  and  will  merit  my 
attention  no  farther  than  they  reflect  thy  image, 
or  discover  thy  excellencies^ 

Even  at  this  distance,  encompassed  with  the 
shades  of  death,  and  the  mists  of  darkness  ;  in 
these  cold  melancholy  regions,  when  a  ray  of 
thy  love  breaks  in  on  my  soul,  when  through  the 
clouds  I  can  trace  but  one  feeble  beam,  even 
that  obscures  all  human  glory,  and  gives  me  a 
contempt  for  whatever  mortality  can  boast. 
What  wonders  then  will  the  open  vision  of  thy 
fare  effect,  when  I  shall  enjoy  it  in  so  sublime  a 
degree,  that  the  magnificence  of  the  skies  will 


106  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

not  draw  my  regard,  nor  the  converse  of  angels 
divert  mv  thoughts  from  thee?  Thou  wilt  en- 
gross my  everlasting  attention  ;  and  I  should 
abound  in  felicity,  if  I  had  nothing  to  entertain 
me  but  immediate  communion  with  the  infinite 
Divinity. 

Mend  thy  pace,  old  lazy  Time,  and  shake  thy 
heavy  sands  ;  make  shorter  circles,  ye  rolling 
planets  ;  when  will  your  destined  courses  be  ful- 
filled ?  Thou  restless  sun,  how  long  wilt  thou 
travel  the  celestial  road  ?  when  will  ;hy  starry- 
walk  be  finished  ?  when  will  the  commissioned 
angel  arrest  thee  in  thy  progress,  and,  lifting  up 
his  hand,  swear  by  the  unutterable  name,  that 
time  shall  be  no  7nore  ?  O  happy  period  \  my  im- 
patient soul  springs  .forward  to  salute  thee,  and 
leaves  the  lagging  days,  and  months,  and  years, 
far  behind.  ^'  Haste,  my  beloved,  and  be  like 
a  roe,  or  a  young  hart  on  the  spicy  mountains," 

I  pine,  I  die  for  a  sight  of  thy  countenance: 
O,  turn  the  veil  aside,  blow  away  the  separat- 
ing cloud,  pull  out  the  pins  of  this  tabernacle, 
break  the  cords,  and  let  fall  the  curtain  of  mor- 
tality !  O  let  it  interpose  no  longer  between  me 
and  mv  perfect  bliss.  I  feel  those  flames  of  di- 
vine love  which  are  unextinguishable  as  the  lights 
of  heaven  ;  nor  death  itself  shall  quench  the  sa- 
cred ardour. 

Ye  ministers  of  light,  ye  guardians  of  the  just, 
stand  and  w^tnqss  to  my  vows  :  and  in  an  hum- 
ble dependance  on  thy  grace,  O  Jesus,  may  I 
not  venture  to  bid  these  thy  flaming  ministers 
protest  against  me  when  I  change  my  love,  and 
stand  my  accusers  at  the  last  judgment  !  When 
I  prove  false  to  thee,  may  I  not  venture  to  say 


OF  THE  HEART.  107 

to  them  all,  Bring  in  your  a  vv.ful  evidence,  and 
proclaim  my  perjury  i 

For  you  have  listen'd  while  the  sacred  name 
That  kindles  hi  each  heavenly  breast  a  flame  ; 
You  hsten'd  while  it  melted  on  my  tongue, 
Fiow'd  from  my  lips,  and  graced  the  midr.ight  song, 
BJess'd  was  the  time,  and  sweetly  tied  the  hours, 
While  holy  love  employ 'd  my  noblest  pow'rs ; 
The  heav'ns  appear'd,  and  the  propitious  skies 
Unveil  *d  their  inmost  glories  to  roy  eyes. 
Oh,  stay  I  1  cry'd,  ye  happy  moments  stay, 
Kor  in  your  flight  snatch  these  delights  awayi^ 
1  ask  no  more  the  rising  sun  to  view, 
To  mortals  and  their  hopes  I  bid  adieu. 

These  heavens  and  this  earth  have  been  wit- 
ness to  my  vov^s  :  the  holy  angels  have  been  wit- 
nesses, and  all  will  join  togetl^r  to  condemn  me 
.when  I  violate  m^y  faith  :  strengthen  and  confirm 
it,  O  my  Saviour,  and  make  the  bonds  of  it  im- 
mortal. 

If  I  were  only  to  reason  upon  this  subject,  I 
might  say,  what  motive  could  cinh,  what  could 
hell,  what  could  heaven  itself  propose  to  tempt 
my  soul  to  change  its  love  ?  what  could  they  lay 
in  the  balance  against  an  infinite  good?  what  could 
be  thrown  in  as  a  stake  against  the  favour -of 
God  t  Ask  the  happy  souls  who  know  what  the 
light  of  his  countt nance  imports,  who  drink  in 
joy  and  immortality  from  his  smiles  ;  ask  them 
what  value  they  set  on  their  enjoyments  ?  ask 
them  v/hatin  heaven  or  earth  shouldpurchase  one 
moment's  interval  of  their  bliss  ?  ask  some  radi- 
ant seraph,  amidst  the  fervenv^v  of  his  raptures, 
at  v/hat  price  he  values  his  happiness  ?  and  when 
thi-se  have  named  the  purchase,  earth  and  hell 
may  try  to  balance  mine.     Let  them  spread  the 


\ 
108  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

baits  that  tempt  deluded  men  to  ruin  ;  let  riches, 
honour,  beauty,  and  bewitching  pleasure 
appear  in  all  their  charms,  the  sensuality  ol  the 
present  and  past  ages,  the  Persian  delicacy,  and 
the  Roman  pride  ;  let  them  uncover  the  golden 
mines,  and  disclose  the  ruby  sparkling  in  its 
bed  ;  let  them  open  the  veins  of  sapphire,  and 
shew  the  diamond  glittering  in  its  rock,  let  them 
all  be  thrown  into  the  balance  ;  alas  !  their 
weight  is  too  little,  and  too  light.  Let  the  pa- 
geantries of  state  be  added,  jmperial  titles,  and 
the  ensigns  of  majesty  ;  put  in  all  that  boundless 
vanity  imagines  or  wild  ambition  craves,  crowns 
and  sceptres,  regal  vestments  and  golden 
thrones  ;  the  scales  still  mount,  7  brow  in  the 
world  entire  ;  'tis  unsusbtantial,  and  light  as  airy 
vanity. 

Are  these  thy  highest  boasts,  O  deluding 
world  ?  Ye  ministers  of  darkness,  have  you  no- 
thing else  to  offer  ?  are  these  your  utmost  pro- 
posals ?  are  tht-se  a  comj^ensation  for  the  favour 
of  God  ?  Alas  !  that  boundless  word  has  a  mean- 
ing which  out^veighs  them  all  :  infinite  delight, 
inconceivable  joy,  are  expressed  in  it  ;  the  light 
of  his  countenance  signifies  more  than  angels  can 
descrii)e,  or  mortality  imagine  :  and.  shall  I 
quit  all  that  an  everlasting  heaven  means  for 
emptv  shadows  ? 

Go,  ye  baffled  tempters,  go  offer  your  toys  to 
madmen  and  fools  :  they  all  vanish  under  my 
scorn,  and  cannot  yield  so  much  as  an  amuse- 
ment to  mv  aspiring  thoughts.  The  sun,  in  all 
its  spacious  circuit,  beholds  nothing  to  tempt  my 
w  ishesr  These  winding  skies,  in  all  their  am- 
pl  vround,  contain  noth*  :g  eqi'al  to  my  desires, 
my  ambition  has  far  diilerent  ends,    and  other 


OF  THE  HEART.  4§1 

prospects  in  view ;    nothing  below  the  joys  of 
angels  can  satisfy  me. 

Let  me  explore  the  words  of  life  and  beauty, 
and  find  a  path  to  the  dazzling  recesses  of  the 
Most  High  :  \6t  me  drink  at  the  fountain-head  of 
pleasure,  and  derive  all  that  I  want  from  origi- 
nal and  uncreated  fulness  and  felicity. 

Oh,  divine  love  !  let  me  launch  out  into  thy 
pleasurable  depths,  and  be  swallowed  up  of  thee: 
let  me  plunge  at  once  in  immortal  joy,  and  lose 
myself  in  the  infinite  ocean  of  happiness. 

Till  then  1  pine  for  my  celestial  country  ;  till 
then  I  murmur  to  the  winds  and  streams,  and 
tell  the  solitary  shades  my  grief.  The  groves 
are  conscious  to  my  complaints,  and  the  moon 
and  stars  listen  to  my  sighs.  By  their  silent 
lights  I  talk  over  my  heavenly  concerns,  and  give 
a  vent  to  my  divine  affections  in  mortal  lan- 
guage ;  then  looking  upward,  I  grow  impatient 
to  reach  that  milky  way,  the  seat  of  joy  and  im- 
mortality, y 

Come  love,  come  life,  and  that  bless'd  day 
For  which  I  languish,  come  away  ; 
When  this  dry  soul  these  eyes  shall  see, 
And  drink  the  unseal'd  source  of  Thee. 

O  come,  I  cry,  thou  whom  my  soul  loveth ! 
I  would  go  on,  but  want  expression,  and  vainly 
struggle  with  the  unutterable  thought. 

Tell  me,  ye  sons  of  light,  who  feel  the  force 
of  the  celestial  fires,  in  what  language  you  paint 
their  violence  ?  Or  do  the  tongues  oif  seraphs 
faulter  I  Does  the  language  of  paradise  want 
emphasis  here,  and  immortal  eloquence  fail? 
Surely  your  happiness  is  more  perfect  than  all 
vour  descriptions  of  it :  heaven  echoes  to  your 

K 


tit  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

charming  notes,  as  far  as  they  reach,  while  di- 
vine love,  which  is  all  your  song,  is  infinite,  and 
knows  no  limits  of  degree  or  duration. 

Yet  I  would  say.  Some  g;ntle  spirit,  come 
and  instruct  me  in  your  art  ;  lend  me  a  gokUn 
harp,  and  guide  the  sacred  flight ;  let  me  imi- 
tate your  devout  strains  ;  let  me  copy  out  \  our 
harmony  ;  and  then, 

Some  of  the  fairest  choir  above 

Shall  flock  around  my  song, 
With  joy  to  hear  the  name  they  love 

Sound  from  a  mortal  tongue. 

Blessed  and  immortal  creatures,  I  long  to  join 
with  you  in  your  celestial  style  of  adoration  and 
love.  I  long  to  learn  \our  ecstacies  of  worship 
and  joy,  in  a  language  which  mortals  cannot  pro- 
nounce, and  to  speak  the  divine  passion  of  my 
soul  in  words  which  are  now  unspeakable. 


XX.     Self  Reproof  for  Inactivity. 

IS  it  possible  that  I  should  one  day  be 
rapt  almost  into  the  third  heavens,  and,  ere  a 
few  weeks  have  passed  over  me,  I  should  find 
mvself  creeping  among  the  insects  of  the  earth, 
and  almost  as  meanly  busied  as  they  ?  Can  divine 
love,  which  exalted  me  lateh  into  flaming  trans- 
ports, so  far  subside  and  grow  cool  within  me? 
Can  it  leave  me  so  inactive  as  I  now  feel  myself? 
What  shall  I  do  to  shame  my  conscience  with 
reproaches,  and  renew  the  flame  of  religious 
.zeal  and  vigour  ? 


OF  THE  HEART.  Ill 

Alas  !  how  does  the  activity  of  men  about  the 
little  affairs  of  haman  life  condemn  my  negli- 
gence in  matters  of  everlasting  consequence  ! 
Does  the  fond  lover  with  such  anxiety  and  impa- 
tience pursue  the  object  of  his  wishes  ;  and  shall 
not  divine  beauty  and  infinite  loveliness  inflame 
my  desires  to  a  nobler  height,  and  excite  my 
languishing  devotion  ? 

Are  the  ambitious  so  restless  and  solicitous  tq 
make  themselves  great,  and  to  purchase  the  ve- 
neration of  fools  ?  do  they  lay  such  mighty  pro- 
jects, and  compass  their  designs  with  such  pain 

anu  Uiiuiv.ci*t^^  *v,*  **»^*vr  j^c»gcaijiryanagauay  tiities; 
and  shall  I,  who  am  a  candidate  for  heaven,  a 
probationer  for  celestial  dignity,  lose  my  title  for 
want  of  diligence  ?  shall  1  faint  in  the  noble  strife, 
when  God  and  angels  are  ready  to  assist  me,  and 
jcvery  moment's  toil  will  be  recompensed  with 
eternal  ages  of  rest  and  triumph? 

See,  see,  the  moments  fly,  the  labour  shortens, 
and  the  immense  reward  draws  near;  the  palm 
Oi  victory,  the  starry  crown,  are  in  view  ;  the 
happy  realms  and  fields  of  light  entertain  me 
with  their  glorious  prospect.  Rouse  thee,  my 
soul,  to  th^:;  most  active  pursuit  of  those  felici- 
ties ;  waken  all  ihy  sprightly  powers  ;  and  let  it 
never,  never  be  thy  reproac  h,  that  the  vigour 
and  intenseness  of  thy  labours  fall  short  of  the 
pretensions  of  thy  desires;  or  that  thy  holy  in- 
dustry should  sink  so  far  below  the  fervour  of 
those  affections,  which,  in  a  devout  hour,  thou 
hast  pronounced  inexprtjssible. 

O  Lord,  what  a  mutable  thing  is  man  !  v/hat 
frailty  works  in  this  flesh  and  blood,  and.  hangs 
heavy  upon  our  better  powers!  'Tis  grace,  divine 
grace  alone,  can  keep  alive  that  immortal  spark 


iJ2  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

within  us,  which  came  first  from  heaven,  and  first 
taught  our  hearts  to  arise  and  spring  upward. 
Preserve  and  complete  thy  own  work,  almighty 
Grace.  "^ 


XXI.     A  joyful  View  of  approaching  Death, 

O  DEATH,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  where  is 
thy  boasted  victory  ?  The  conquest  is  mine  ;  I 
shall  pass  in  triumph  through  thy  dark  dominions; 
and  through  the  grace  of  the  Son  of  God,  my  di- 
viiiJ  VZ^^J^:^:  ^  ^^^"^^  ^^Ppear  there,  not  a  captive, 
but  a  conqueror. 

O  king  of  terrors,  where  are  thy  formidable 
|ooks?   I  can  see  nothing  dreadful  in  thy  aspect: 

iiioi^  cipucieiresi;  witn  no  toKcns  ui  v^%.««».»«.^ ,  iwjt 
dost  thou  come  with  summons  from  a  severe 
judge,  but  gentle  invitations  from  my  blessed  Re- 
deemer, who  has  passed  gloriously  through  thy 
territories  in  his  way  to  his  throne. 

Thrice  welcome,  thou  kind  messenger  of  my 
liberty  and  happiness !  a  thousand  times  more 
welcome  than  jubilee  to  the  wretched  slave,  than 
pardon  to  a  condemned  malefactor.  I  am  going 
from  darkness  and  confinement  to  immense  light 
and  perfect  liberty;  from  these  tempestuous  re- 
gions to  the  soft  and  peaceful  climes  above;  from 
pain  and  grief  to  everlasting  ease  and  tranquil- 
lity. For  the  toils  of  virtue,  I  shall  immedi- 
ately receive  its  vast  rewards :  for  the  reproach  of 
fools,  the  honour  and  applause  of  angels.  In  a 
few  minutes  I  shall  be  higher  than  yonder  stars, 
and  brighter  far  than  they.  I  shall  range  the 
boundless  aether,  and  breathe  the  balmy  air  of 
paradise.     I  shall  presently  behold  my  glorious 


OF  THE  HEART.  113 

Maker,  and  sing  hallelujahs  to  my  excilted  Sa- 
viour. 

And  now  come,  ye  bright  guardians  of  the  just, 
conduct  me  through  the  unknown  and  trackless 
sether,  for  you  pass  and  repass  the  celestial  road 
continually;  you  have  commission  not  to  leave  me 
till  I  arrive  at  Mount  Sion,  the  heavenly  Jeru- 
salem, the  city  of  the  living  God;  till  I  come  to 
the  innumerable  company  of  angels,  and  the  spi- 
rits of  just  men  made  perfect. 

Hold  out  faith  and  patience  ;  it  is  but  a  little 
while,  and  your  work  will  be  at  an  end  ;  but  a 
few  moments,  -and  these  sighs  and  groans  shall 
be  converted  into  everlasting  hallelujahs  ;  but  a 
few  weary  steps,  and  the  journey  of  life  will 
be  finished.  One  effort  more,  and  I  shall  have 
gained  the  top  of  the  everlasting  hills,  and  from 
yonder  bright  summit  shall  presently  look  on  the 
dangers  I  have  escaped  in  my  travels  through  the 
wilderness.. 

Roll  faster  on,  ye  lingering  minutes;  the 
nearer  my  joys,  the  more  impatient  I  am  to 
seize  them :  after  these  painful  agonies,  how 
greedily  shall  I  drink  in  immortal  ease  and  plea- 
sure !  Break  away,  ye  thick  clouds  ;  be  gone,  ye 
envious  shades,  and  let  me  behold  the  glories  ye 
conceal ;  let  me  see  the  promised  land,  and  sur- 
vey the  happy  regions  I  am  immediately  to  pos- 
sess. How  long  will  ye  interpose  between  me 
and  my  bright  sun  ?  betv/een  me  and  the  uncloud- 
ed face  of  God  ?  Look  up,  my  soul,  see  how 
sweetly  those  reviving  beams  break  forth  !  how 
they  dispel  the  gloom,  and  gild  the  shades  of 
death. 

O  blessed  eternity  !  with  what  a  cheerful 
splendour  dost  thou  dawn  on  my  soul  ?    With 

K  2 


114  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

thee  comes  liberty,  and  peace,  and  love,  and 
endless  felicity  :  but  pain,  and  sorrow,  and  tu- 
mult, and  death,  and  darkness,  vanish  before 
thee  for  even  1  am  just  upon  the  shores  of 
those  happy  realms  where  uninterrupted  day  and 
eternal  spring  reside  ;  yonder  are  the  delectable 
hills  and  harmonious  vales  which  continually 
echo  to  the  songs  of  angels.  There  the  blissful 
fields  extend  their  verdure,  and  there  the  im- 
mortal groves  ascend.  But  ho\y  dazzling  is  thy 
prospect,  O  city  of  God,  of  whom  such  glori- 
ous thing  are  spoke  !  In  thee  "  there  shall  be  no 
more  night,  nor  need  of  the  sun  or  moon,  for 
the  throne  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb  is  in  the 
midst  of  thee  ;  and  the  nations  that  are  saved 
shall  walk  m  thy  light,  and  the  kings  of  the 
earth  shall  bring  their  glory  and  honour  unto 
thee  :  and  there  the  glorious  Lord  shallbe  to  us 
a  place  of  defence,  a  place  of  streams  and  broad 
rivers;"  and  the  voice  of  joy,  and  the  shout  ^f 
triumph,  shall  be  heard  in  thee  for  ever. 

There  holy  souls  perpetual  sabbaths  keep, 
And  never  are  concerned  for  food  or  sleep; 
There  new-conne  saints  with  wreaths  of  light  are 

crown'd, 
While  ivory  harps  and  silver  trumpets  sound 
There  flaming  seraphs  sacred  hymns  begin, 
And  raptur'd  cherubs  loud  responses  sing. 

Bly  eyes  shall  there  behold  the  King  in  his 
beauty;  and  oh!  how  ravishing  will  the  aspects 
of  his  love  be  !  What  unutterable  ecstacies  shall 
I  feel,  when  I  meet  those  smiles  which  enlighten 
heaven,  and  exhilarate  all  the  celestial  regions ; 
when  I  shall  view  the  beatific  glory,  without  one 
interposing  cloud  to  eternity  :  when  I  shall  drink 


OF  THE  HEART.  115 

my  fill  at  the  fountains  of  joy,  and  in  those  rivers 
of  pleasure  that  flow  from  his  right  hand  for 
ever. 


XXII.     A  Devout  Resignation  of  Self  to  the  Dc- 
vine  Poxver  and  Goodness* 

MY  all-sufficient  friend,  "  my  shield,  and 
my  exceeding  great  reward!"  I  have  enough; 
unbounded  avarice  can  covet  nothing  beyond 
thee  ;  the  soul  v/hom  thou  dost  not  suffice  de- 
serves to  be  eternally  poor.  Thou  art  my  su- 
preme happiness,  my  voluntary  choice:  1  took 
thv  love  for  my  treasure  in  that  blessed  day 
when  I  entered  into  covenant  with  thee,  and 
became  thine  :  I  made  no  articles  with  thee  for 
thy  friendship,  the  honours  and  pleasures  of  the 
world,  but  solemnly  renounced  form  all,  and 
chose  thy  favour  for  my  single  inheritance,  leav- 
ing the  conduct  of  my  life  entirely  to  ihee. 

These  were  my  vows,  and  these  I  have  often 
renewed  ;  and  shall  I  now  retract  such  sacred 
obligations,  and  alter  a  choice  so  just  and  rea- 
sonable ?  Forbid  it,  gracious  God  !  let  me^never 
be  guilty  of  such  madness.  The  Vv^orldhas  often 
disappointed  my  most  confident  expectations, 
but  thou  hast  never  deceived  me.  In  all  my 
distress  I  have  found  thee  a  certain  refuge,  ^'  my 
shield,  my  fortress,  my  high  tower,  my  deli- 
verer, my  rock,  and  he  in  whom  I  trust."  Whc^n 
there  was  none  to  save  me,  thy  powerful  hand 
has  set  me  free  ;  thou  hast  redressed  my  griev- 
ances, and  dissipated  my  fears  ;  thou  hast 
brought  me  light  out  of  obscurity,  and  turned 
my  darkness  into  day. 


116  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

When  the  world  could  afford  me  nothing  but 
tempest  and  disorder^  with  thee  I  have  found 
repose  and  undisturbed  tranquillity.  Thou  hast 
been  my  long  experienced  refuge,  my  unfailing 
confidence,  and  i  stedfastly  depend  on  thee  for 
my  future  conduct.  I  cannot  err  when  guided 
by  infinite  Wisdom.  I  must  be  safe  in  the  arms 
of  eternal  love,  to  which  I  humbly  resign  my- 
self. Let  me  have  riches  or  poverty,  honour  or 
contempt  ;  whatever  comes  from  thy  hands  shall 
be  thankfully  received.  I  would  hear  no  voice 
but  thine,  nor  make  a  step  but  where  I  am  /ol- 
lowing  thee. 

If  thou  wouldst  leave  me  to  choose  for  my- 
self, I  would  resign  the  choice  again  to  thee.  I 
dread  nothing  more  than  the  guidance  of' my 
own  blind  desires  :  I  tremble  at  the  thoughts  of 
such  a  fatal  liberty  ;  avert,  gracious  God,  that 
miserable  freedom  !  Thou  foreseest  all  events, 
and  at  one  single  view  dost  look  through  eternal 
consequences  ;  therefore  do  thou  determine  my 
circumstances,  not  to  gratify  fny  own  wild  de- 
sires, but  to  advance  thy  glory. 

Thou  hast  an  unquestionable  right  to  dispose 
of  me  ;  I  am  thine  by  necessary  ties  and  volun- 
tary engagements,  wdiich  I  thankfully  acknow- 
ledge, and  solemnly  renew  :  deliberately  and 
entirely  I  put  myself  into  thy  hands.  Whatever 
interest  I  have  in  this  world  I  sacrifice  to  thee, 
and  leave  my  dearest  enjoyments  to  thy  dispo- 
sal, acknowledging  it  my  greatest  happiness  to 
be  guided  by  thee. 

''  Lord,  what  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of 
himP'  that  thou  w^ho  art  supremely  blessed  and 
independently  happy  shouldst  concern  thyself 
with  human  affairs,  and  condescend  to  make  our 


OF  THE  HEART.  IIT 

wants  as  much  thy  care  as  if  mortal  miseries 
could  reach  ihee,  and  interrupt  immortal  bles- 
sedness !  thou  wouldst  make  us  sensible  of  thine 
indulgence  by  the  most  tender  similitudes :  £1 
father's  gentle  care  but  faintly  shadows  thine, 
and  all  we  can  conceive  of  human  pity  iali^ 
short  of  thy  compassion.  Thou  uost  seem  to 
share  in  all  our  calamities,  and  svmiiathize  in  all 
our  ^^\*:^^  j^^Q  triend  flies  toour  assistance  with 
all  the  speed  that  love  brings  thee  ;  nor  canst 
thou  ever  want  methods  to  reijcivc  uiose  that  con-* 
fide  in  thee. 

Thy  providence  finds  or  makes  its  way  through 
all  oppositions  ;  the  streams  shall  roll  back  to 
their  fountains,  the  sun  shall  stand  still,  and  the 
^^'I'rse  of  nature  be  reversed,  rather  than  thou 
want  means  to  bring  thy  purposes  to  pass.  No 
obstacle  puts  a  stand  to  thy  designs,  nor  obstructs 
thy  methods  :  it  is  thy  will  that  makes  nature  and 
necessity  :  who  can  stay  ihy  hand,  or  say  unto 
thee,  What  doest  thou  ?  Thy  counsel  shall  stand, 
and  thou  wilt  do  all  thy  pleasure.  Nothing  is 
impossible  for  thee  to  accomplish  :  wherever  I 
cast  my  eyes,  I  see  instances  of  thy  power :  the 
extended  firmament,  the  sun  and  stars,  tell  me 
what  thou  art  able  to  perform  ;  they  attest  thy 
omnipotence,  and  rebuke  my  unbelief.  The 
whole  creation  pleads  for  thee  and  condemns  my 
infidelity. 

Almighty  God,  forgive  my  diffidence,  while  I 
confess  it  is  most  inexcusable.  Thy  hand  is  not 
shortened,  nor  are  the  springs  of  thy  bounty 
sealed  ;  thv  ancient  miracles  have  not  exhausted 
thy  strength,  nor  hath  perpetual  beneficence  im- 
poverished thee  ;  thy  power  remains  undimi- 
nished, and  thy  mercy  eudureth  for  ever.     That 


ai8  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

dazzling  attribute  surrounds  me  with  transport- 
ing glories  :  which  way  soever  1  turn,  1  meet  ihc 
bVight  conviction  ;  1  cannot  recal  a  day  of  my 
past  life  on  whivh  some  signature  of  thy  goodU 
Bess  is  not  stamped. 

0  !  who  hath  tasted  of  thy  clemency 

In  v>  renter  measure,  or  move  (ft  than  T? 
Which  way  sce'er  1  tarn  my  tace  or  i^vt, 

1  see  thy  mercy,  and  thy  glory  meet. 

,In  whatever  thou  hast  granted,  or  whatever 
thou  hast  denied  me,  thy  beneficence  has  been 
mingled  with  every  dispensation  ;  thou  hast  not 
tuken.the  cidvantage  ot  my  follies,  nor  been  se- 
vere to  my  sins,  but  hast  remembered  my  frame, 
and  treated  me  with  the  utmost  indulgence. 
Giory  be  to  thy  name  for  ever. 


XXIII.     Redeeming  Love. 

ALMIGHIY  love,  the  theme  of  every 
heavenly  song !  infinite  grace,  the  wonder  of 
argels  I  forgive  a  mortal  tongue  that  attempts 
thy  praise  ;  and  yet  should  man  be  silent,  the 
mute  creation  would  find  a  voice  to  upbraid  him. 
But  oh  !  in  what  language  shall  I  speak  ?  vv  ith 
what  circumstance. shall  i  begin?  shall  I  roll 
back  the  volunies  of  eternity,  and  begin  v/ith  the 
glorious  "design  that  determined  man's  redemp- 
tion before  the  birth  of  lime,  before  the  con- 
fines of  Creation  were  fixed? 

Infinite  years  before  the  day. 
Or  heavens  began  to  roll  I 


OF  THE  HEART.  11* 

Shall  I  speak  in  general  of  all  the  nations  of 
the  redeemed  r*  or,  to  excite  my  own  gratitude, 
shall  1  consider  myself,  my  vvorihiesii  self,  in- 
cluded, by  the  eternal  decree,  among  lae  nuii^- 
ber  of  those  who  should  hear  oi  a  r\edecm  .'s 
name,  aud  be  marked  out  a  partaker  oi  thji  im- 
mense privilege  ^  Beiore  the  fouiidations  oi  ^he 
hills  were  iaia,  the  gracious  design  was  fot  uk  L, 
and  the  blessed  plan  ox  it  schemed  out  beiOie 
the  curtains  of  the  sky  were  spread. 

Lord,  what  is  man  f  what  am  I  f  what  is  ul 
the  huQAan  race,  to  bj  thus  regarded.^  O  naricw 
thoughts,  and  narrower  worcs  !  here  cont.  ss 
your  defects  ;  these  are  heights  not  to  be  reached 
by  you.  Adorable  measures  of  inhnite  clemenc\  ! 
unsearchable  riches  of  grace  !  with  what  asto- 
nishment do  i  survey  you  !  I  am  swallowed  and 
lost  in  the  glorious  immensity.  Ail  hail,  ye  di- 
vine m)  steries  !  ye  glorious  paths  of  the  un- 
searchable Deity  !  let  me  adore,  though  I  can 
neve  r  express  you. 

Yet  should  I  be  silent,  heaven  and  earth,  nay- 
hell  itself  will  reproach  me  :  the  damned 
themselves  would  call  me  ungrateful,  should  I 
fcdl  to  celebrate  that  grace  whose  loss  they  are 
for  ever  lamenting  ;  a  loss  that  leaves  them  for 
ever  desperate  and  undone.  '  Fis  this  grac^ 
wdiich  tunes  the  harps  of  heaven,  and  yields  them 
an  immortal  subject  of  harmony  and  praise. 
The  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect  fix  their 
contemplations  here  ;  they  adore  the  glorio.is 
mystery,  and  while  they  sing  the  wonders  of  re- 
deeming love,  they  ascribe  sublime  and  living 
honours  to  him  that  sits  on  the  throne,  and  to  the 
Lamb,  forever.  And  infinitely  vvorthy  art  thou, 
O  Lord,  to  receive  the  gratciul  homage.     Who 


120  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

shall  not  praise  and  magnify  thy  name  ?  who  shall 
deny  the  tribute  of  thv  glory  ? 

But,  alas  !  what  can  mortal  man  add  to  thee  ? 
what  can  nothingness  and  vanity  give  ?  We  mur- 
mur from  the  dust,  and  attempt  thy  praise  from 
the  depths  of  misery  ?  yet  thou  dost  condescend 
to  hear  and  listen  to  our  broken  accents^  amiust 
the  hallelujahs  of  angels  our  groans  ascend  to 
thee,  our  complriims  reach  ihit  :  from  the  height 
of  thy  happiness,  and  from  the  exaltations  of 
eternal  glory,  thou  hast  a  rc^gard  to  man,  poor 
wret  hed  nian  !  thou  recei\  est  his  homage  with 
delight,  his  praises  mingle  with  the  harmony  of 
angels,  nor  interrupt  the  sacred  concord.  Those 
natives  of  heaven,  those  morning  stars  sing  toge- 
ther in  their  heavenly  beatitudes,  nor  disdarifn  lo 
let  the  sons  of  earth  and  mortality  join  with  them 
in  celebrating  the  honours  of  Jesus,  their  Lord 
and  ours.  To  him  be  every  tongue  devoted,  and 
let  every  creature  for  ever  praise  him.     Ameii. 


XXIV.     Pleading  for  Pardon  and  Holiness. 

IMMORTAL  spring  of  life,  the  fountain 
of  all  existence,  the  first  and  last,  "without  be- 
ginning of  days,  or  end  of  years,"  before  the 
heavens  were  created  thou  wast,  and  shalt  remain 
unchans^ed,  while  they  wax  old  and  decay.  I'hou 
art  infinitely  blessed  in  thyself,  thy  glory  ad  mils 
of  no  addition  ;  the  praises  of\  angels  cannot 
heighten  thy  heippiness,  nor  the  blasphemies  of 
hell  diminish  it.  Thou  canst  do  every  4:hing, 
and  thy  power  finds  no  obstacle.  '^  Thou  madest 
heaven  and  earth,  the  sea  and  the  fountains  of 
water ;  thou  doest  according  to  thy  will  m  the 


OP  THE  HEART.  l%h 

armies  of  heaven,  and  amongst  the  inhabitants 
of  the  earth  ;  thou  holdest  the  waters  in  the  hol- 
low of  thy  hctnd^  and  measurest  out  the  heavens 
with  a  span  :  thou  comprehendest  the  dust  of  the 
earth  in  a  measure,  and  weighest  the  mountains 
with  scales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance  :  thou  co- 
verest  thyself  with  light  as  with  a  garment,"  and 
art  surrounded  w  ith  inaccessible  splendour : 
*'  Thou  art  glorious  in  holiness,  fearful  in  praises ; 
the  heavens  are  not  clean  in  thy  sight,  and  thou 
chargest  thine  angels  w4th  folly :  what  then  is 
man  that  driiiketh  in  iniquity  like  water?  what 
is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?  or  the  son. 
of  man  that  thou  dost  thus  visit  him  r"  'Tis  be- 
cause thou  art  good,  and  thy  mercy  endureth  for 
ever  ;  mercy  is  thy  prevailing  attribute.  Thou 
art  compassionate,  and  infinitely  gracious,  and 
hast  fully  manifested  thy  love  and  beneficence  to 
the  race  of  man,  in  the  glorious  methods  of  our 
redemption  from  everlasting  bondage  and  death 
by  thy  Son  Jesus. 

Therefore  vfitli  the  lowest  reverence,  and 
most  humble  gratitude,  1  desire  to  prostrate  mj^ 
self  before  thee,  acknowledging  it  my  greatest 
honour  and  undeserved  privilege  to  approach  the 
Lord,  and  bow  myself  before  the  high  God  ;  I 
that  am  unworthy  to  utter  thy  tremendous  name, 
or  once' to  lift  up  my  eyes  to  heaven.  To  my 
own  confusion  I  here  confess  I  have  abused  the 
mercy  which  I  now  implore,  and  injured  that 
goodness  and  forbearance  by  my  sins  which  I  am 
now  addressing  myself  to.  I  have  forfeited  the 
verv  benefits  I  ask,  and  despised  those  sacred 
privileges  which  I  am  forced  to  plead  :  I  can 
scarce  use  any  motive  but  what  would  carry  it  to 
my  own  condemnation.       Shall   I   implore   thy 

L 


122  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

mercy  by  the  gracious  terms  of  the  new  covenaiat, 
sealed  by  the  blood  of  thy  eternal  Son?  Alas! 
that  gracious  covenant  I  have  violated,  and  pro- 
faned its  sacred  seals  :  I  have  sinned  against  ihe 
clearest  light,  and  the  tenderest  instances  of  love: 
I  have  not  only  broken  my  obligations  to  thee  as 
my  Creator,  but  the  stronger  engagements  of 
thy  adoption,  even  the  glorious  privileges  of 
being  admitted  into  thy  iamily,  and  numbered 
among  the  children  of  God. 

But  still  those  very  circumstances  that  aggra- 
vate my  guilt  exalt  th}  mercy  ;  here  the  freeness 
andlTiaguificence  of  thy  grace  will  display  itself; 
here  thou  wilt  answer  the  indulgent  title  of  a 
father  in  its  tenderest  extent.  I  have  no  sins  too 
great  ior  iufinice  clemency  to  pardon.  Thou  art 
God,  and  not  man  ;  and  as  the  heavens  are  high 
above  the  earth,  so  high  are  thy  ways  of  com- 
passion above  all  human  methods. 

I  dare  not  set  bounds  to  thy  goodness,  nor  af- 
firm, that  thus  far  ^  and  no  fart/itr  diwiw^  patience 
extends.  Thou  hast  pardoned  and  restored  me 
to  thy  favour  too  often  for  me  now  to  despair  ; 
my  penitent  sighs  were  never  rejected,  nor  my 
humble  requests  unanswered.  I  have  always 
found  the  heavens  open,  and  the  throne  of  God 
accessible  through  the  blood  of  a  Redeemer. 
By  hi^  agony  and  bloody  sweat,  by  his  cross  and 
passion,  by  his  painful  death  and  glorious  resur- 
rection, I  implore  thy  pardon:  he  has  made  a 
fiul  atonement,  and  divine  Justice  will  dema:  d 
no  further  satisfaction.  "  To  him  give  all  the 
prophets  witness,  that,  through  his  name,  whoso- 
ever believes  in  his  name  shall  receive  remission 
of  sins." 


OF  THE  HEART.  123 

O  blessed  Jesus  !  the  hope  of  the  Gentiles, 
the  salvation  of  the  ends  of  theearth,  the  great 
Messiah,  the  promised  Saviour,  wlio  doth  answer 
thc-se  glorioas  titles  in  their  utmost  signification, 
to  thee,,  my  certain,  my  experienced  refuge,  I 
iiy :  O  Son  of  God,  hear  me  ;  O  Lamb  of  God, 
who  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  have 
mercy  on  me.  O  eternal  Spirit,  the  promised 
Comforter,  come  v/ith  all  thy  sacred  consolations; 
come,  and  be  as  dew  to  the  drooping  flowers,  as 
rain  to  the  parched  ground  ;  oh  !  come  with  thy 
reviving  light,  and  dispel  the  darkness  that  be- 
clouds my  soul ;  break  in  like  the  sun  after  a  me- 
lancholy night.  One  beam  of  thine  would  melt 
this  frozen,  this  obdurate  heart,  and  kindle  in 
my  soul  the  spark  of  holy  love  ;  breathe  upon  my 
cold  aflections,  and  raise  them  to  a  sacrecl  flame. 

Searcher  of  hearts  !  from  whom  nothing  is 
concealed,  whose  penetrating  eyes  find  out  hj/- 
pocrisy  in  its  darkest  disguise  ;  thou  knowest  the 
desires  of  my  soul,  and  art  my  impartial  witness, 
that  I  kneel  not  here  for  the  riches  and  honours 
of  the  world  ;  that  I  am  not  prostrated  before 
thee  for  length  of  days  or  pleasure  ;  but  that  it 
is  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  the  righteousness 
thereof,  that  I  seek.  Give  me  not  my  portion 
v/ith  the  rich  and  great,  but  let  me  have  my  hum- 
ble lot  with  thy  children  ;  let  me  bear  contempt 
and  derision,  and  suffer  reproach  with  the  peo- 
ple of  God^  rather  than  enjoy  the  pleasures  of 
sin,  which  are  but  for  a  season. 

Thy  favour  is  the  end  of  all  my  vv^ishes,  the 
constant  subject  of  my  prayer.  Oh  !  thou, 
whose  ears  are  open  to  the  wants  of  all  thy  crea- 
tures, who  hearest  the  young  ravens  when  they 
cry  from  their  nest  to  thee,  who  givest  the  men 


154  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

of  the  world  the  transitory  things  they  choose, 
wilt  thoii  deny  the  desires  which  thou  thyself 
dost  inspire  and  approve  ?  O  let  me  be  filled  with 
the  righteousness  which  I  hunger  and  thirst  af- 
ter, and  be  satisfied  with  thy  likeness.  Thou 
canst  not  be  diminished,  whatever  perfection 
thou  dost  communicate  to  the  creatures  ;  endless 
liberality  could  not  make  thee  poor. 

I  ask  not  privileges  above  the  capacitv  of  my 
nature,  nor  aspire  to  the  perfections  of  angels  ;  I 
only  beg  that  I  may  reach  those  heights  of  holi- 
ness and  divine  love,  which  souls,  invested  by 
a  mortal  body  like  mine  and  incumbered  with 
the  same  human  passions,  have  attained.  But 
in  vain  I  strive  to  imitate  those  bright  examples 
thou  hast  set  before  me  ;  without  thy  assistance 
all  myendeavours  will  prove  successless.  Fhou 
knowest  the  frailty  of  my  nature,  and  the  migh- 
ty difficulties  I  have  to  encounter:  I  have  not 
only  the  allurements  of  the  world,  but  all  the 
stratagems  of  hell  to  encounter  with,  and  a 
treacherous  heart  within,  ready  on  all  occasions 
to  betray  me  into  sin  and  endless  perdition  :  O 
let  my  impotence  and  danger  awaken  thy  compas- 
sion. 

Remember  thy  former  benignity,  O  Lord, 
and  let  that  engage  thee  to  grant  me  new  supplies 
of  that  gra<ie  by  which  alone  I  shall  prove  victo- 
rious. Thy  bounty  to  any  of  the  works  of  thy 
hands  must  always  flow  fro ra  the  goodness  of  thy 
own  nature  ;  for  what  creature  can  pretend  to 
merit  any  thing  from  thee  ?  I  would  urge  no- 
thino;  but  thy  own  infinite  mercy,  when  I  entreat 
thee  not  to  let  me  perish,  after  the  wonderful 
things  thou  hast  done  for  my  soul ;  after  all  the 
pledges  thou  hast  given  me  of  thy  love,  let  not 


OF  THE  HEART,  T2.V 

my  follies  provoke  thee  to  forsake  me  ;  but  re- 
member thy  covenant,  and  its  gracious  articles, 
and  act  according  to  thine  own  ineffable  benigni- 
ty, which  has  been  the  gracious  motive  of  every 
hiYOiiY  I  have  received  from  thee. 


XXV.    A    Transport   of    Gratitude  for    saving 

Merc  If, 

I  BLESS  a  thousand  times  the  h^ppy  day 
when  first  a  beam  of  heavenly  light  broke  in  on 
my  soul,  when  the  day-star  from  on  high  visited 
me,  and  the  celestial  light  began  to  dawn  !  I 
welcomed  its  cheerful  lustre,  and  felt  the  sa* 
cred.  influence  ;  the  flames  of  holy  love  awoke^ 
and  holy  joys  were  kindled. 

The  earth  and  all  its  pageantry  disappeared 
like  clouds  before  the'  morning  sun:  the  scenes 
of  paradise  were  opened  ;  seraphic  pleasures, 
and  unutterable  delights.  All  hail,  I  cried,  you 
unknown  joys,  you  unexperienced  pleasures  ! 
compared  to  \ou,  what  is  all  I  hare  reiisl|ed  till 
now  ?  what  is  earthly  beauty  and  harmony  ? 
wh'it  is  all  that  mortals  call  charming  and  attrac- 
tive ?  I  never  lived  till  now  ;  I  knew  no  more 
than  the  name  of  happiness  till  now  :  I  have 
been  in  a  dream  during  all  the  days  of  my  folly 
and  vanity  ;  but  now  I  awake  to  the  life  of  hea- 
ven-born spirits,  and  taste  the  joys  of  angels. 


L  2 


126  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 


XXVI.     Importunate  Requests  for  the  Return  of 

God  to  the  Soul. 

THOU  great  and  glorious,  thou  invisible 
and  universal  Being,  art  thou  no  nearer  to  be 
approached  ;  or  do  I  search  thee  amiss  ?  is  there 
a  corner  of  the  creaticm  unvisited  by  thee,  or 
any  place  exempt  froai  thy  presence  ?  I  trace 
thy  footsteps  through  heaven  and  earth,  but  I 
cannot  overtake  thee. 

Why  do  I  seek  thee  if  thou  art  not  here  ; 
Or  find  thee  not,  if  thou  art  every  where  ? 

Tell  me,  O  my  God,  and  my  All,  tell  me 
%vhere  thou  art  to  be  found  ;  for  there  is  the  place 
of  my  rest.  What  imaginable  good  can  supply 
thy  absence?  Deprived  of  thee,  all  that  the  world 
could  offer  would  be  like  a  jest  to  a  dying  m^n, 
and  provoke  my  aversion  and  disdain.  'Tis  a 
God  that  I  seek. 

My  'wishes  stoop  not  to  a  lower  aim  ; 

Thr.u,  thou  hast  kindled  this  immortal  flame, 

Which  nothing  could  allay. 

Adieu,  adieu  to^U  human  things!  Let  me  find 
m}  God,  the  end  of  all  my  wishes.  Why  dost 
thou  keep  back  the  face  of  thy  throne  ?  why  do 
the  clouds  and  sacred  darkness  conceal  thee? 

'    Thy  voice  produc'd  the  seas  and  spheres, 
Bid  the  waves  roll,  and  pl.'inets  shine  \ 
But  nothhig  like  thyself  appears. 
Thro'  ali  these  various  works  of  tiiiue. 


OF  THE  HEART.  127 

O  thou  fairer  than  all  thfe  works  of  thy  hands  ! 
wilt  thou  ever  hide  thyself  from  a  creature  that 
loves  and  seeks  thee  with  so  intense  desire  ? 
I  appeal  to  thee,  O  Lord,  are  not  my  breathings 
after  thee  most  hearty  and  unfeigned  ?  does  not 
ray  soul  pant  after  thee  with  a  fervour  which  can- 
not be  extinguished,  and  ti  sincerity  which  can- 
not be  disguised  f 

For  thee  I  pine,  and  am  for  thee  undone, 

As  drooping  fiovv'rs  that  want  their  parent  sun. 

How  do  my  spirits  languish  for  thee  !  No  si- 
militude can  express  the  vehemence  of  my  de* 
sires:  wealth  and  glory,  friends  and  pleasure, 
lose  their  names,  compared  to  thee.  To  follow 
thee  I  would  leave  them  all  behind  :  I  would 
leave  the  whole  creation,  and  bid  the  fields  and 
sparkling  skies  adieu.  Let  the  heavens  and 
earth  be  no  more,  while  thou  endurest  for  ever, 
I  can  want  no  supp< -rt ;  my  being  itself,  with  all 
its  blessedness,  depends  entirely  on  thee. . 

Place  me  far  from  the  bounds  of  all  creation, 
remote  from  all  existence  but  thy  own  ;  in  that 
ineffable  solitude  let  me  be  lost !  let  m.e  expatiate 
there  for  ever  ;  let  me  run  the  endless  rounds  of 
bliss- — but  alas!  I  fsatter  myself  in  vain  with 
scenes  of  unattainal)le  happiness.  I  will  search 
thee,  then,  v/here  I  hope  ihou  ma}'est  be  found. 
I  cast  my  eyes  to  the  bright  regions  above,  and 
almost  envy  the  happy  beings  that  see  thv  face 
unveiled  ;  I  sear<:h  thee  in  the  fiov/ery  meadows, 
a-^d  listc  n  for  thee  among  the  murrauring  springs ; 
thv  n  silent,  and  abstra;  ted  from  humar«  things,  I 
search  thee  in  holy  contemplalion.     'Tis  ail  in 


128    ^  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

vain  :  nor  fields,  nor  fiodds,  nor  clouds,  nor  stars^ 
reveal  thee. 

Ye  happy  spirits,  that  meet  his  smiles,  and 
hear  his  voice,  direct  a  mournful  wanderer,  while 
I  seek  him  v/hom  my  soul  loves,  while  I  sigh 
and  complain,  and  cast  my  languishing  eye  to 
yonder  happy  mansions.  Fain  would  I  penetrate 
the  starry  pavilions,  and  look  thro'  the  separating 
firmament:  oh!  that  thou  wouldst  divide  the 
clouds,  that  thou  wouldst  rend  the  heavens,  and 
give  m.e  one  glimpse* of  thy  glory!  that  thou 
wouldst  display  thy  beauty,  and  in  the  midst  of 
these  earthly  scenes  of  amusing  vanity,  give  me 
one  moment's   interval  of  celestial  blessedness ! 

One  look  of  rnercy  from  thy  eye, 

One  whisper  of  thy  voice, 
Exceed  a  whole  Pternity 

Em  ploy 'd  in  carnal  jovs. 
Cculd  I  the  spacious  earth  command, 

Or  the  more  boundless  sea, 
For  one  dear  htur  at  thy  right  hand 

I'd  give  them  both  away. 

If  things  were  put  Into  just  balances,  and 
computed  aright,  for  the  first  moment  of  this 
satisfaction  I  am  ready  to  say,  the  whole  casea- 
tion would  be  cheaply  lost :  how  gladly  would  I 
resign  all  for  such  a  bliss !  Adieu  to  human 
things  ;  let  me  find  my  God,  the  end  of  all  my 
v/ishts  ;  'tis  he.  v/hom  I  seek  ;  'tis  he  alone  can 
S'vtisfy  mr  innnit-  desires.  Oh  !  v.hy  dost  thou 
withdraw?  ^hus     long     con  jeil     thyself? 

wfiere  dfist  thou  retire  ?  Nor  eigrth  nor  heaven  re- 
ply to  my  repeated  calls. 

Let  me  invoke  thee  by  every  gracious  title, 
my  God,  and  thc^God  of  my  fathers  :  ^^  from 


OF  THE  HEART.  125 

•ne  generation  to  another  thou  hast  been  our 
dwelling-place  ;  the  claiai  has  deocendfrd  from 
age  to  age,  thy  covenant  has  been  established 
with  us,  and  thy  faithfulness  remains  unble- 
mished." O  forget  not  thy  covenant,  forget  not 
the  blesshigs  entailed  on  me  ;  forget  not  the 
prayers  and  tears  by  which  my  pious  ancestors 
h'we  engaged  thy  merc>  for  me  ;  forget  not 
their  vows  and  solemn  dedication  of  me  to  thee. 
Oh  !  recal  thy  ancient  favours,  and  renew  thy 
former  mercy  to  a  family  which  has  been  thme 
in  a  succession  of  ages. 

Let  me  invoke  thee  now^by  a  nearer  propriety  : 
my  covenant  God,  my  Father,  and  my  Friend  f 
If  by  all  those  tender  names  I  have  ever  known 
the-,  forget  me  not.  By  those  sacred  engagements, 
O  Lord,  I  entreat  thy  return.  If  all  thy  past  fa- 
vours were  real,  if  all  was  waking  bliss,  and  not 
a  gay  delusion.  O  restore  my  heaven  again* 
Life  of  my  soul,  light  of  my  eyes,  return : 
come,  and  bring  all  thy  sacred  consolations : 
once  again  let  me  experience  those  holy  joys  that 
thy  presence  imparts,  once  again  let  me  hear  thy 
voice,  once  again  be  blessed  with  thy  smiles. 

Oh  I  hear,  and  to  my  longing  eyes 

Restore  thy  wonted  light, 
And  suddenly,  or  1  shall  sleep 

In  everlasting  night. 

Blessed  Saviour,  in  thee  we  behold  the  face  of 
God  as  a  reconciled  father  ;  and  dost  thou  with- 
draw thyself?  O  how  welcome  will  thy  return 
be  I  how  like  the  breaking  of  immortal  day  will 
thy  presence  chet-r  me  !  how  dearly  shall  I  prize 
my  happiness !  how  fearful  shall  I  be  of  every 


130  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

thing  that  M^ould  offend  thee  !  how  joyful  in  the 
blessed  discovery  and  possession  of  thy  love  ! 
I'd  whisper  my  bliss  to  the  listening  streams  and 
groves. 

Vd  carve  thy  passion  on  the  bark, 

And  ev'ry  wounded  tree 
Shall  droop,  and  bear  sonae  mystic  mark 
'  That  Jesus  dy'd  for  me. 
The^swains  shall  wonder  when  they  read, 

Inscrib'd  on  all  the  grove, 
That  Heav'n  itself  came  down  and  bled 

To  v/in  a  mortal's  love. 

Bat  why  do  I  flatter  myself  with  these  de- 
lightful scenes  ?  I  find  thee  absent  still :  I  mourn 
and  complain  as  one  unpitied.  What  is  life 
while  thou  art  absent  ?  Oh  !  return  and  bless  me 
with  thy  presence,  thou  who  knowest  my  dis- 
tresses, and  art  acquainted  with  my  secret 
cares.  Thou  v/ho  art  the  witness  of  my  mid- 
night sighs,  and  dost  hear  v/hen  at  the  dawning 
day  I  call  thee  ;  but  still  thou  answerest  not, 
and  seemest  deaf  to  n>y  prayers.  I  am,  'tis 
true,  a  worthless  wretch  ;  but,  vile  as  J  am, 
thou  hast,  in  thy  immense  compassion,  brought 
me  into  covenant  with  thee.  My  beloved  is  jnine^ 
and  I  am  his. 

He  is  my  siin,  though  he  refuse  to  shine  ; 

Though  for  a  moment  he  depart, 

I  dwell  for  ever  on  his  heart, 
Tor  ever  he  on  mine. 

Nothing  can  break  the  sacred  union :  but  for 
this  confidence  I  were  undone  ;  but  for  this  beam 
of  hope  I  were  lost  in  eternal  darkness.  "  Why  art 
tliou  disquieted,  O   my  soul,  and  why  art  thou 


OF  THE  HEART.  151 


cast  down  M^ithin  me  ?  Hope  in  God,  for  I  shall 
yet  praise  him  for  the  light  of  his  countenance  ;'^ 
I  shall  yet  welcome  his  return,  I  shall  yet  hear 
his  cheering  voice,  and  meet  his  favourable 
smiles. 

But  why,  O  my  God,  this  long  suspense? 
why  do  these  intervals  of  night  and  darkness 
abide  upon  me,  and  torment  my  heart  so  long? 
wilt  thou  deny  a  bliss  so  easily  granted  ?  I  ask  no 
more  than  is  lawful  for  mortality  to  wish:  1  ask 
not  the  visions  of  angels  here  below,  nor  the 
beatitudes  of  perfected  spirits:  I  ask  but  what 
thou  hact  bid  me  seek,  and  given  me  hopes  to 
obtain  ;  I  ask  that  sacred  fellowship,  that  ineffa- 
ble communion,  v.  ith  which  thou  favourest  thy 
saints. 

Oh !  let  me  hear  those  heavenly  whispers  that 
give  them  the  foretastes  of  immortal  pleasure  ; 
let  me  be  sensible  of  those  divine  approaches 
that  kindle  celestial  ardour  in  their  souls  ;  let  me 
meet  those  beams  that  darken  all  mortal  beauty: 
let  me  enjoy,  atthis  earthly  distance,  those  smiles 
that  are  the  bliss  of  angels  in  heaven.  Though 
'tis  but  darkly,  and  afar  oiT,  yet  let  me  feel  their 
influence  ;  it  will  brighten  the  passage  of  hfe,  it 
will  direct  me  through  its  mazes,  and  gild  its 
rough  and  gloonmy  paths  ;  it  will  raise  the  flames 
of  sacred iove,-  it  will  awakenvthe  divine  principle 
within  me,  and  set  it  a  glowing  through  all  my 
powers.  I  abandon^  I  shall  forget  the  vanities 
below,  and  the  glories  of  the  world  will  be  no 
more  ;  but  while  thou,  O  my  God,  hidest  thy 
f;?ce,  I  lose  my  sun.  I  languish  and  die  ;  yet  to 
thee  I  will  lift  up  my  eyes,  to  thee  1  will  lift  up 
mv  soul. 


132-  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

Come,  Lord,  and  never  from  me  go ; 

This  world's  a  darksome  place  : 
Ifir.d  no  pleasure  here  oelow, 

When  thou  dost  veil  thy  face. 


XX  VIL     Breathing  after  God^  and  weary  of  the 

World. 

'Tisno  mean  beauty  of  the  ground 

That  has  allur'd  my  eyes  ; 
I  faint  beneath  a  nobler  wound, 

Nor  love  below  the  skies. 

If  words  can  reach  the  heights  of  love  and 
gratitude,  let  me  pour  out  the  secret  ardour  of 
my  soul  :  O  let  it  not  offend  thy  greatness  that 
dust  and  vanity  adores  and  loves  thee.  If  thou 
hadst  gi^'en  me  other  capacities,  and  formed  any 
thing  more  suita'jle  to  my  wishes,  I  might  have 
found  a  lower  happiness,  and  been  content  with 
something  below  the  infiaite  Deity  ;  but  the 
scanty  creation  affords  nothing  to  satisfy  me,  and 
I  follow  thee  by  a  divine  instinct  and  mere  ne- 
cessity of  nature 

Mv  life  is  useless,  and  my  being  insignificant 
without  thee  ;  my  reason  has  no  proper  employ- 
ment ;  love,  the  noblest  passion  of  my  soul, 
has  no  object  to  answer  its  dignity.  I  am  re- 
duced to  absolute  poverty  ;  my  nature  is  entire- 
ly  ruined,  I  am  lost,  eternally  lost,  undone,  and 
abandoned  to  despair,  if  I  am  deprived  of  thee. 
There  can  be  no  reparation  made  for  an  infinite 
loss ;  nothing  can  be  instead  of  God  to  my 
soul. 

I  have  willingly  renounced  all  things  else  for 
thy  sake  :  all  the  sentiments   of  tenderness  and 


OF  THE  HEART.  .  131 

delight  that  my  soul  ever  feels  for  any  earthly 
object,  is  mere  indifference,  compared  to  my 
^ove  to  thee,  and  it  grows  into  hatred  when  that 
object  stands  as  thy  rival  or  competitor.  This  is 
the  conquering,  the  superior  flame,  that  draws 
in  j^nd  swallows  up  all  the  other  ardours  of  my 
nature.  iVIy  engagements  with  'all  terrestrial 
things  are  broken  :  the  names  of  father,  of 
brother,  or  of  friend,  are  no  more  ;  abstracted 
from  thee,  these  tender  titles  give  me  neither 
confidence  nor  joy,  and  are  mere  insignificant 
names,  but  as  thou  dost  give  them  an  emphasis; 
they  are  nothing  at  all  without  thee  ;  and  with, 
thee,  what  infinite  good  can  be  an  addition  ? 

The  soul  can  hold  no  more,  for  God  is  all. 
He  only  t^quals  its  capacious  grasp, 
He  only  overfills  to  spaces  infinite. 

Thou  art  my  God,  and  I  have  enough :  my 
soul  is  satisfied.  I  am  entirely  at  rest  Divide 
the  vain,  the  perishing  creation  to  the  miserable 
wretches  that  ask  no  other  portion j  let  them, 
unenvied,  possess  the  honours,  and  riches,  and 
pleasures  of  the  world  ;  with  a  lavish  hand  di- 
vide them  away  :  these  things  are  but  as  the 
dust  of  the  balance  to  the  happy  soul  that  knows 
what  the  light  of  thy  countenance  imports.  Af-^ 
ter  that,  there  can  be  no  relish  left  for  the  low 
delights  of  mortality^ 

Lost  m  the  high  enjoyments  of  thy  love, 
What  glorious  mortal  could  my  envy  move  ? 

Ye  ineffable  delectation-:^^  of  divine  love,  let  me 
h:r^e  n>  sentiment  of  ^  T  tsure  left  but  for  \  ou. 
Mj   Gj J  revealing  his  glories  and  his  graces  in 

M 


184  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

Jesus  Christ  his  Son,  is  sufficient  for  my  eternal 
entertainiment. 

VV^hat  if  ail  former  ideas  of  visible  things  were 
wiped  from  my  soul?  what  if  I  had  no  imagina- 
tion, no  memory,  no  traces  left  of  any  thing  but 
the  joys  I  have  found  in  thy  presence,  and  the 
assurances  of  thy  everlasting  favour  ?  Those  are 
the  only  past  moments  I  recal  wiih  pleasure  ; 
and,  oh  !  let  all  the  vast  eternity  before  me  be 
spent  in  these  satisfactions. 

Vanish,  ye  terres  rial  scents!  fly  away,  ye 
vain  objects  of  sense  !  1  resign  all  those  poor  and 
limited  faculties  by  which  Jou  are  enjo)  ed  ;  let 
me  be  insensible  to  all  your  impressions,  if  they 
do  not  lead  me  to  my  God.  Let  chaos  come 
again,  and  the  fair  face  of  nature  become  an  uni- 
versal blank  :  let  her  glowing  beauties  all  fade 
away,  and  those  divine  characters  she  wears  be 
effaced,  I  shall  be  happy  :  the  God  of  nature, 
and  the  original  of  all  beauty,  is  my  God. 

What  if  the  sun  were  extinguished  in^  the 
skies,  and  all  the  ethereal  lamps  had  burnt  out 
their  golden  flames  ?  I  shalldwellin  light  and  im- 
mortal day,  for  my  God  will  be  ever  with 
me.  When  the  groves  shall  no  more  renew  their 
verdure,  nor  the  fields  and  vallies  boast  any 
longer  their  flowery  pride  ;  when  all  these  lower 
heavens,  and  this  earth,  are  mingled  in  univer- 
sal ruin,  and  these  material  images  of  things  are 
no  more,  I  shall  see  new  regions  of  beaut)  and 
pleasure  for  ever  opening  themselves  in  the  di- 
vine essence,  with  all  their  original  glories. 

But  O  how  various,  how  boundless,  how 
transporting  will  the  prospect  be  !  O  when  shall 
I  bid  adieu  to  phantoms  and  delusions,  and  con- 
Verse  with  eternal  realities  ?  when  shall  1  drink 


OF  THE  HEART.  135 

at  the  fountain-head  of  essential  life  and  blessed- 
ness ? 


.  And  then, 


O  what !  l)iit  ask  not  of  the  tongues  of  men, 
For  angels  cannot  tell.     Let  it  suffice, 
Tfivseif,  my  S'ml,  shall  feel  thy  own  full  joys, 
•   And  hold  them  fast  for  ever. 

Oh  !  break  my  fetters,  for  I  must  be  gone. 
Bring  my  soul  out  of  prison  !  I  am  straitened  ; 
the  whole  creation  is  t90  narrow  for  m?  :  I  sick- 
en at  this  confinement,  and  groan  and  pant  for 
liberty.  How  sweet  are  the  thoughts  of  enlarge- 
ment !  My  soul  is  already  on  the  wing,  and 
practises  imaginary  flights  :  I  seem  to  reach  the 
heaven  of  heavens,  where  God  himself  resides. 
It  is  good  for  me  to  be  here. 

But  ah,  how  soon  the  clouds  of  mortal  sense 
Arise,  and  veil  the  charming  vision. 

Alas  !  what  do  I  here  in  this  waste  and  dread- 
ful wilderness  ;  this  dismal  region,  where  our 
delights  are  vanishing,  and  the  \ery  glimpses  of 
future  felicity  we  enjoy,  are  so  soon  cvershad- 
ed  and  surrounded  with  real  horrors  ?  Alas  ! 
what  do  I  here,  wasting  that  breath  in  sighs  and 
endless  complaints  that  was  given  me  to  bless 
and  praise  the  infinite  Creator  i  Alas  !  what  do 
I  here  among  strangers  and  enemies,-  in  this  wild 
unhospitable  place,  far  from  my  home  and  all 
the  subjects  of  my  solid  delight  ? 

My  wishes,  hopes,  my  pleasure,  and  my  love, 
My  thoughts,  and  noblest  passions,  are  above. 


1~$6  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

^  What  do  I  here  in  the  dominions  of  death  and 
sin,  in  the  precincts  and  range  of  the  powers  of 
darkness  ?  Here  they  lay  their  toils,  and  set  their 
fatal  snares  ;  but,  Lord,  what  part  have  they  in 
me  ?  I  have  bid  defiance  to  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness, in  thy  strength,  and  renounced  my  share 
in  the  vanities  of  the  world.  I  am  a  subject  of 
another  kingdom,  and  dare  not  enter  into  any 
terms  of  peace  and  amity  with  the  irreconcile- 
able  adversaries  of  God  and  my  soul,  which  in- 
habit these  treacherous  and  sinful  regions.  '-''  The 
friendship  of  this  world  is  enmity  with  God." 
Death  and  destruction  are  in  its  smiles  ;  I  stand 
on  my  guard,  and  am  every  moment  in  danger 
of  surprise  ;  oh  !  when  will  deliverance  come 
from  on  high ! 


When,  my  soul, 


O  when  shall  thy  release  fronri  cumb'rous  flesh 
Pass  the  great  seal  of  heav'n  I  What  happy  hout^ 
Shall  give  thy  thoughts  a  loose  to  soar  and  trace 
The  intellectual  worla  I 

What  glorious  scenes  shall  open  when  once 
this  mortal  partition  falls,  when  these  walls  of 
clay  shall  totter,  and  sink  down  into  dust!  ie 
w^aters  of  life,  ye  torrents  of  immortal  pleasure, 
how  impetuously  will  you  then  roll  in  upon  me, 
and  swell  and  fill  up  all  the  capacities  of  jo}  in 
my  nature  !  Every  faculty  shall  then  be  filled, 
and  every  wish  shall  end  in  unutterable  fruition. 
a  When  I  awake  into  immortal  light,  I  will  be 
satisfied  with  thy  likeness."  These  exprtss- 
Ifss  desires  will  die  into 'everlasting  raptures  : 
hope  and  languishing  expectation  will  be  no 
more  ;  hut  present,  complete,  and  unbounded 
satisfactions  will  surround  me  :    my  God,    my 


OF  THE  HEART.  ^^^ 

God  himself,  shall  be  my  infinite,  my  unutter- 
able, joy :  all  the  avenues  of  pleasure  shall  be 
opened  before  me,  the  scenes  of  b*.auty  and 
prospects  of  delight.  ^^  Everlasting  joy  shall  be 
upon  my  hea  1,  and  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  fly 
away  for  ever," 

There  will  be  no  more  intervals  of  grief  and 
sin :  sin,  that  insupportable  evil,  that  worst, 
that  heaviest  burden.  Here  the  painful  and 
deadly  pressure  lies  ;  it  is  this  that  hangs  as  a 
weight  on  all  my  joys  ;  but  thanks  be  to  my 
God,  I  can  say  I  sincerely  detest  and  hate  this 
vilest  of  slaveries,  this  cursed  bondage  of  cor- 
ruption ;  I  long  for  the  glorious  liberty  of  the 
sons  of  God  ;  I  groan  under  this  load  of  flesh, 
this  burden  of  mortality,  this  body  of  death. 

But  grant,  O  Lord  !  that  I  may  with  patience 
continue  in  well-doing,  and  at  last  obtain  glory 
and  im mortality  through  my  Redeemer's  righ- 
teousness. '^  Sanctif)  me  through  thy  word  of 
truth  :"  remember  this  request  of  my  glorious 
Advocate. 


XXVIII.     A    Prayer  for  speedy  Sanctif  cation. 

O  LORD  God,  great  and  holy,  all-suffici- 
ent, and  full  of  grace,  if  thou  shouldst  bid  me 
form  a  wish,  and  take  whatsoever  in  heaven  or 
earth  I  hal  to  a  ;k,  it  should  not  be  the  king- 
-doms  of  this  world,  nor  the  crowns  of  princes  ; 
no,  nor  should  it  be  the  wreaths  oi  martyrs,  nor 
the  thrones  of  ar.  hangels  :  mv  request  is,  to  be 
made  holv  ;  this  is  mv  high-st  concern.  Recti- 
fy tht-  disorders  sin  has  made  in  mv  soul,  and 
renew  thy  image  there  ;  let  me  besatisfied  with 

M  2 


^^  BEVOUT  EXERCISES 

thy  likeness.  Thou  hast  encompassed  my  paths 
with  mercy  in  all  other  respects,  and  I  am  dis- 
contented with  nothing  but  my  own  heart,  be- 
cause it  is  so  unlike  the  image  of  thy  holiness, 
and  so  unfit  for  thy  immediate  presence. 

Permit  me  to  be  importunate  here,  O  blessed 
God,  and  grant  the  importunity  of  my  wishes  ; 
let  me  be  favoured  with  a  gracious  and  speedy 
answer,  fori  am  dying  while  I  am  speaking; 
the  very  breath  with  which  I  am  calling  upon 
thee  is  carrying  away  part  of  my  life :  this 
tongue,  that  is  now  invoking  thee,  must  shortly 
be  silent  in  the  grave  ;  these  knees,  that  are  bent 
to  pay  thee  homage,  and  these  hands,  that  are 
now  lifted  to  the  most  high  God  for  mercy,  must 
shortly  be  mouldering  to  their  original  dust ; 
these  eyes  will  soon  be  closed  in  death,  which 
are  now  looking  up  to  thy  throne  for  a  blessing. 
Oh!  prevent  the  flying  hours  with  thy  mercy, 
and  let  thy  favour  outstrip  the  hasty  moments. 

Thou  art  unchanged,  while  rolling  ages  pass 
along  ;  but  I  am  decaying  with  every  breath  I 
draw ;  my  whole  allotted  time  to  prepare  for 
heaven  is  but  a  point,  compared  with  thy  infinite 
duration.  The  shortness  and  vanity  of  my 
present  being,  and  the  importance  of  my  eternal 
concerns,  join  together  to  demand  my  utmost 
solicitude,  and  give  wings  to  my  warmest  wishes. 
Before  I  can  utter  all  my  present  desires,  the 
hasty  opportunity  perhaps,  is  gone,  the  golden 
minute  vanished,  and  the  season  of  mercy  has 
taken  its  everlasting  flight. 

Oh !  God  of  ages,  hear  me  speedily,  and 
grant  my  request  while  I  am  yet  speaking,  my 
frail  existence  will  admit  of  no  delay ;  answer 
Kie  according  to  the  shortness  of  my  duratioo, 


OF  THE  HEART.  im 

^d  the  exigence  of  my  circumstances.  My 
business,  of  high  importance  as  it  is,  yet  is 
limited  to  the  present  now,  the  passing  moment  j 
for  all  the  powers  on  earth  cannot  promise 
me  the  next. 

Let  not  my  pressing  importunity,  therefore, 
offend  thee  :  my  happiness,  my  everlasting  hap- 
piness, my  whole  being  is  concerned  in  my  suc- 
cess as  much  as  the  enjoyment  of  God  himself 
is  worth,  is  at  stake. 

Thou  knowest,  O  Lord  what  qualifications 
will  fit  me  to  hold  thee  ;  thou  knowest  in  what  I 
am  defective  ;  thou  canst  prepare  my  soul  in  an 
instant  toenterinto  thyholyhabitation.  I  breathe 
now,  but  the  next  morning  may  be  death :  let 
not  that  fatal  moment  come  before  I  am  prepared. 
The  same  creating  voice  that  said,  ^'  Let  there 
be  light,  and  there  was  light,"  can  in  the  same 
manner,  purify  and  adorn  my  soul,  and  make 
me  fit  for  thy  own  presence  ;  and  my  soul  longs 
to  be  thus  purified  and  adorned.  O  Lord,  delay 
not,  for  every  moment's  interval  is  a  loss  to  me, 
and  maybe  a  loss  unspeakable  and  unrepairable. 
Thy  delay  cannot  be  the  least  advantage  to  thee ; 
thy  power  and  thy  clemency  are  as  full  this  pre- 
sent instant  as  they  w^ill  be  the  next,  and  my 
time  as  fleeting,  and  my  wants  as  pressing. 

Remember,  O  eternal  God,  my  lost  time  is 
for  ever  lost,  and  my  wasted  hours  will  never 
return,  my  neglected  opportunities  can  never  be 
recalled  ;  to  me  they  are  gone  forever,  and  can- 
not be  improved  ;  but  thou  canst  change  my  sin- 
ful soul  into  holiness  by  a  word,  and  set  me  now 
in  the  way  to  everlasting  improvement. 

O  let  not  the  spirit  of  God  restrain  itself,  but 
bless  me  according  to  the  fulness  of  thy  own  b€>- 


140  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

ing,  according  to  the  riches  of  thy, grace  la 
Christ  Jesus,  according  to  thy  infinite  inconceiv- 
able love  manifested  in  ihat  glorious  gift  of  thy 
beloved  Son,  wherein  the  fulness  of  thy  Godhead 
was  continued  ;  it  is  through  his  merit  and  me- 
diation I  humbly  wait  for  all  the  unbounded  bles- 
sings I  w^ant  or  ask  for,  - 


XXIX.  Gratitude  for  early  and  peculiar  Favours* 

LET  me  trace  back  thy  inercy,  O  my  God, 
from  the  first  early  dawn  of  life,  and  bless  thee 
for  the  privileges  of  my  birlh,  that  it  was  not 
in  the  land  of  darkness,  where  no  ray  of  the 
gospel  had  ever  darted  its  light ;  where  the  name 
of  a  Saviour  never  had  reached  m\  ears,  nor  the 
transporting  tidings  of  redemption  from  eternal 
misery  had  ever  blessed  my  souL 

But  how  shall  I  express  my  gratitude  for  that 
grace  which  ordained  mv  lot  in  this  happy  land, 
one  of  the  islands  of  whii:h  it  was  long  since 
prophesied,  '^  They  shall  see  thy  glory,  and 
trust  in  thv  name?  God  has  enlarged  Japheth," 
even  m  the  islands  of  tlie  sea,  *'•  and  made  him  to 
dwell  in  the  t:  nts  of  Shen\,"  in  the  inheritance  of 
Abraham.  I  have  ydcscvrnt  from  ^he  Gentiles, 
who  were  once  ''  strmger*^  to  the  covenant. of 
grace,  aliens  from  the coir.monwealth of  Israel;" 
bat  are  now  brought  nigh  h^  the  blood  oi  sprink- 
ling. Jesns^,  the  great  pt  ace-maker,  hath 
brought  both  near  tn  God,   and  to  each  other. 

I  bless  thee  with  all  ,y  powers  for  the  privi- 
le?:-es  of  mv  des;  ent  from  pious  ancestors  ;  that 
tj-r  ,1  Vicic-  h(-r-n  their  rhwlling-plac^^  from  sre*^'  •na- 
tion to  generation,  and  hast  not  '^  taken  ihy  lov- 


OF  THE  HEART.  141 

ing-kindness  from    their  seed,  nor  suffered  thy 
fuithiulness  to  titii." 

Thou  hast  extended  thy  mercy  to  me  the  last 
and  least  of  all  my.  father's  house,  unworthy  to 
wipe  the  feet  of  the  meanest  of  the  servants  of 
my  Lord  ;  and  yet  by  an  absolute  act  of  good- 
ness, I  am  brought  into  thy  family,  and  number- 
ed with  the  children  of  God.  Even  so  it  has 
seemed  good  in  thy  sighl,  who  '^  art  gracious 
to  whom  thou  wilt  be  grucious." 

I  might  have  been  a  vessel  of  wrath,  a  trophy 
to  thy  justice,  instead  of  a  monument  of  thy 
mercy :  how  unsearchable  thy  ways  !  how  un- 
controlled and  free  !  1  hou  didst  regard  me  in 
m^  low  estate,  in  more  than  my  original  guilt 
and  juisery  ;  for  I  had  improved  the  wretch  :*d 
stock,  and  been  a  voluntary  as  well  as  a  natural 
slave  to  sin  and  death. 

From  this  ignominious  slavery,  thou,  my 
great  Redeemer,  hast  ransomed  me ;  hath 
brought  me  into  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  sons 
of  God.  I  was  a  strang^'r,  and  thou  didst  take 
me  in  :  naked,  and  thou  hast  clothed  me  with 
the  spotless  robes  of  thy  own  righteousness  :  I 
was  hungry,  and  thou  didst  feed  me;  thirsty, 
and  thou  didst  give  me  to  drink  of  the  fountain 
of  life. 

-What  am  I,  O  Lord,  and  what  is  my  father's 
house,  that  thou  hast  dealt  thus  graciously  with 
me,  in  entering  intoan  everlasting  covenant, 
signed  and  sealed,  even  sensibly  sealed  to  my 
soul  by  the  witness  of  thy  Spirit?  Lord,  w^hy 
me  rather  than  many  that  were  companions  of 
my  early  vanities  and  folh^  ?  whence  were  the 
motives  drawn  but  from  thv  sovereign  pleasure  ? 
how  many  are  passed  by  that  could  have  doii^ 


142  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

thee   more   service,  and  leturncd  a  warmer  ac- 
knowledgment to  thy  distingaishing  bouniy  r* 

Ye  spirits  of  ju^t  men  madL-  perfect,  )  e  ran- 
somed nations,  iriunnphcint  above,  instruct  me 
in  the  art  of  celesr.ai  ttloquence  ;  tell  me  invvhat 
Strains  of  sacred  hannony  you  express  your  gra- 
titude for  this  glorious  redempticm,  while  in  ex- 
alted raptures  }  ou  sirg  ''  to  him  that  loved  and 
washed  you  in  his  own  blood,  and  made  vou 
kings  and  priests  to  God.'' 


XXX. "    Aspiring  after   the     Vision    of  God  ifi 

Heaven* 

I  BESEECH  thee^  shew  me  thy  glory.  It 
was  a  moFtal  in  a  state  of  frailty  and  imperfec- 
tion that  made  this  bold  but  pious  request,  which 
I  repeat  on  diiTerent  terms  :  since  none  can  see 
thy  face  and  live,  let  me  die  to  behold  it.  This 
i^  the  only  request  I  have  to  make,  and  this  will 
I  seek  after,  that  I  may  behold  the  beauty  of  the 
Lord  ;  not  as  I  have  seen  it  ia  thy  sanctuary  be- 
low, but  in  full  perfection  and  splendour,  as 
thou  art  seen  by  seraphs  and  cherubs,  by  angels 
and  archangels,  and  the  spirits  of  just  men  made 
perfect, 

O  my  God,  forgive  ray  importunity:  thou 
h:ist  commanded  me  to  love  thee  with  all  my 
heart,  my  soul,  my  strength,  and  hast  by  thy 
Spirit  kindled  the  sacred  flame  in  my  breast. 
From  this  arises  my  present  impatience  :  from 
hence  the  ardour  of  my  desires  spring.  Can  I 
love  thee,  and  be  satisfied  at  this  distance  from 
thee?  can  I  love  thee,  and  not  long  to  behold 
thep  in  perfect  excellence  and  beauty  ?    is  it  a 


OF  THE  HEART.  AH 

crime  to  press  forsvard  to  the  end  for  which  I 
was  created  ?  A41  my  wishes  and  my  hopes  of 
happiness  terminate  in  thee. 

Does  not  the'  thirsty  traveller  pine  for  some 
refreshing  stream  i  would  not  the  weary  be  at 
rest,  or  the  wretched  captive  be  free  ?  and  shall 
not  my  thirsty,  weary,  captive  soul,  long  for 
refreshment,  liberty,  and  rest  ?  I  am  but  a 
stranger,  a  pilgrim  here,  and  have  no  abiding 
place  ;  this  is  not  my  rest,  my  home  ;  and  yet  if 
thou  hast  any  employment  lor  me,  though  the 
meanest  office  in  thy  iamily,  I  will  not  repine  at 
my  stay. 

But,  O  Lord,  thou  hast  no  need  of  such  worth- 
less service  as  1  can  pay  thee  ;  thy  angels  are 
spirits,^  i|iy  ministers  ilames  of  fire  ;  thousands 
of  tho^isands  stand  before  thee,  and  ten  thousand 
times  ten  thousand  minister  unto  thee  ;  they  at- 
tend thy  orders,  and  fly  at  thy  command.  O 
deliver  me  from  this  t-urden  of  mortality,  and  I 
will  serve  thee  with  a  zeal  as  pure  and  active  as 
theirs. 

I  can  speak  of  thy  loving-kindness  to  the  chil- 
dren of  rnen  in  a  very  imperfect  manner :  but 
then  I  will  join  with  the  celestial  choir  in  prais- 
ing thee,  and  rehv  arse  to  listening  angels  what 
thou  hast  done  for  ray  soul.  Here  i  have  a 
thousand  interruptions  from  the  delighiful  work, 
a  thousand  cold  and  darksome  intervals  ;  v/hea 
my  heart  and  tongue  tivt  both  untuned,  a  thou- 
sand necessary  disiractons  that  rise  from  the 
miseries  of  mortality  ;  but  when  these  intervals 
of  grief  an]  s  n  s'uiil  cease,  m^;  soul  shall  dwell 
at  ease,  and  be  for  ever  glad,  and  rejoice  m  thj 
salvation. 


U4  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 


XXXI.     A  Surrender  of  the  Soul  to  God. 

COMMAND  me  what  thou  wilt,  O  Lord, 
give  me  but  strength  to  obey  thee,  be  thy  terms 
ever  so  severe.  O  let  us  never  part.  I  resign 
my  will,  my  liberty,  my  choice,  to  thee  ;  I 
stand  divested  of  the  world,  and  ask  only  thy 
love  as  my  inheritance.  Give  or  deny  me  what 
thou  wilt,  I  leave  all  the  circumstances  of  my 
future  time  in  thy  hands  :  let  the  Lord  guide  me 
continually:  here  I  am,  do  with  mewhatseem- 
eth  good  in  thy  sight :  only  do  not  say,  1  hou 
hast  no  pleasure  in  me.  ^ 

Let  me  not  live  to  dishonour "?hee,  t9  bring  a 
reproach  on  thy  name,  to  profane  the  blood  of 
the  Son  of  God,  and  grieve  the  Spirit  of  graced 
O  take  not  thy  loving  kindness  from  me,  nor 
suffer  thy  faithfulness  to  fail.  Thou  hast  sworn 
by  thy  holiness,  and  thou  wilt  not  lie  to  the  seed 
of  thy  servants  ;  thou  hast  sworn,  that  the  gene- 
ration of  the  righteous  shall  be  blessed  ;  vest 
ine  with  this  character,  O  my  God,  and  fulfil 
this  promise  to  a  worthless  creature. 


XXXII.      Trust    and  Reliance  on    the    Divine 

Promise* 

O  LET  not  my  importunity  offend  thee, 
for  It  is  tht  importunitv  of  faith  ;  it  is  my  stead- 
fast belief  in  thv  word  that  makes  me  persist ; 
thy  v/ord  and  thv  oath,  '^  the  two  immutable 
things  in  which  it  is  impossible  for  God  to  lie, 
give  me  strong  consolation." 

'lis  this  ihat  makes  me  press  forward  to  thy 


OF  THE  HEART.  145 

throne,  and  with  confidence  lay  hold  on  thy 
strength,  thy  wisdom,  and  thy  faithfulness,  on 
th\  goodness  and  tender  compassion  ;  those  glo- 
rious attribute s,  for  which  *•  the  children-of  men 
put  their  trust  under  the  shadow  of  thy  wings.' 
'lis  thy  glory  to  be  the  confidence  of  the  ends 
of  ihe  earth,  and  it  was  long  since  predicted, 
^  That  in  thy  name  the  Gentiles  should  trust.' 

Kind  guardian  of  the  world,  our  heavenly  aid 
To  whom  the  vows  of  all  mankind  are  paid, 

we  pay  thee  the  highest  hom.ige,  and  exalt  thy 
infinite  attributes  by  faith  and  confidence  in  thee. 

I  know  that  thou  art,  anJ  believe  thee  ^^  a  re- 
warder  of  them  that  diligently  seek  thee."  I 
will  never  quit  my  hold  of  thy  promises,  there  I 
fix  m ;/  hopv  s  ;  I  v/ill  not  let  a  little  go,  nor  part 
with  a  mite  of  the  glorious  treasure  :  1  humbly 
hope  I  have  a  rightful  claim;  thou  art  m\  (tocI, 
and  the  God  of  mv  religious  ancestors,  the  God 
of  my  mother,  the  God  of  my  pious  father  ;  dy- 
ing md  breathing  out  his  so^il,  he  gave  me  to  thy 
care  ;  he  put  me  into  thy  gracious  arms,  and  de- 
livered me  up  to  thy  protection.  He  told  me 
thou  wotddst  never  leave  nor  forsake  me  ;  he  tri- 
umphed in  diy  long  experienced  faithfulness  and 
truth,  and  gav  e  his  testimony  for  thee  with  his 
latest  breath. 

And  now,  O  Lord  God  of  my  fathers,  whose 
mercx  has  desctnded  from  'jge  to  age,  whose 
truth  has  remained  unblemished  and  itiviolable, 
and  whose  love  remahis  without  decav  ;  O  Lord, 
the  faithful  God,  and  the  true,  keepirg  •:ovenant 
and  mercy  to  a  thoa^an^l  g  •ncrati':  rs,  let  me  find 
that  protection  and  blessing  that  the  prayers  of 

N 


146  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

my  dying  father  engaged  for  me:  now,  in  the 
time  of  my  distress,  be  a-present  help  :  and  if 
thou  wilt  this  once  deliver  me,  thou  alone  shalt 
be  my  iuture  trust,  my  counsellor,  and  hope  ;  to 
thee  1  will  immediately  apply  myself,  and  look 
on  the  whole  force  of  created  nature  as  insignifi- 
cant. I'o'  thee  I  will  devote  all  the  blessings 
thou  shalt  give -my  time,  my  life,  my  whole  of 
this  vvond's  goods  ;  vvhaiever  share  thou  shalt 
gra' iously  allot  me,  shall  surely  be  the  Lord's. 

Oh  !  hearken  to  the  vows  of  my  distress,  and 
for  thy  own  honour  dt liver  me  from  this  perplex- 
ity which  thou  knowest,  and  reveal  to  me  the 
abundance  of  mercy  and  truth. 

'Twas  my  dtptrndance  on  thy  promise  and 
fidelity  that  brought  me  into  this  exigence  ;  I 
staggered  not  at  thy  promises  through  unbelief, 
but  boldly  ventured  on  the  credit  of  thy  word  : 
I  took  it  for  my  security  :  and  can  the  strength 
of  Israel  repent  ?  canst  theu  break  thy  covenant, 
and  alter  the  thing  that  is  gone  out  of  thy 
mouth  ? 

*^  O  God  of  A^»raham,  God  of  Isaac,  and  the 
God  of  Jacob!  this  is  thy  name  for  ever,  and 
this  thy  memorial  to  all  generations;"  the  God 
before  whom  mv  fathers  walked,  the  God  that 
fed  me  all  my  life  long  till  now,  and  the  argel 
that  redeemed  me  from  evil,  bless  me.  Let  the 
God  of  Jacob  be  my  help,  let  the  Almighty 
bless  me  ;  let  the  blessings  of  nn  father  "'•  pre- 
vail above  the  blessings  of  his  progenitors,  to 
the  utmost  bounds  of  the  everlasting  hills." 

Biess  me  according  to  thy  own  greatness,  ac- 
cording to  the  unsearchable  riches  of  thy  grace 
in  Christ  Jesus  ;  he  is  the  spring  of  all  my  hope, 
in  whom  all  the  promises  of  God  are  yea  and 


OF  THE  HEART.  447 

ameii ;  he  is  the  true  and  faithful  witness,  and 
has  by  his  death  sealed  the  divine  veracity,  and 
is  become  surety  for  the  honour  and  faithfulness 
of  the  most  high  God.  To  this  also  the  Holy 
Ghost,  and  the  Spirit  of  truth,  beareth  witness. 
Oh!  great  Jehovah,  Father,  Son,  and  Holy 
Ghost  !  the  Lord  God  omnipotent !  hear  and 
grant  my  request  for  the  glory  of  thy  mighty 
name  ;  that  name  which  saints  and  angels  bless 
TiViA  love  :  let  thy  perfections  be  manifested  to 
the  children  of  men  :  let  them  say,  There  is  a 
God  that  judgeth  in  the  earth  :  let  them  confess 
thou  dost  keep  thy  covenant  with  the  seed  of  thy 
servants,  that  thy  righteousness  is  from  age  to 
age,  and  thy  salvation  shall  never  be  abolished: 
let  them  see  and  acknowledge,  that  in  the  fear  of 
the  Lord  is  strong  confidence,  and  his  children 
have  a  place  of  refuge. 

Unshaken  as  the  sacred  hill, 

x\nd  firm  as  mountainvS^be  ; 
Firm  as  a  rock  the  soul  shall  rest 

That  leans,  O  Lord,  on  thee. 

MEMORANDUM. 

This  act  of  faith  in  God  was  fully  answered ; 
and  I  leave  my  testimony,  that  *^  the  name  of 
the  Lord  is  a  strong  tower,  and  he  knoweth 
them  that  put  their  trust  in  him." 


XXXIIL     Application  to  the  Divine  Truth. 

HOWEVER    intricate    and    hopeless    m,y 
present     distress    may  be    to     human     views, 


148  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

why  should  I  limit  .^the  Almighty;  or  why 
should  the  Holy  One'^^of  Israel  limit  himself? 
Nature  and  necessity  are  thine  ;  thou  speakest 
the  word,  and  it  comes  to  pass  ;  no  obstacle  can 
oppose  the  omnipotence  of  thy  will,  nor  make 
thy  designs  ineffectual. 

Is  thy  hand  at  all  shortened  since  the  glorious 
period  when  thv  mighty  power  and  thy  stretched 
out  arm  formtd  the  heavens  and  earth  ;  when 
these  spacious  skies  were  spread  at  ih\  command^ 
and  this  heavy  globe  fixed  on  its  airy  pillars? 

The  Strang  foundations  of  the  earth 

Of  old  by  thee  were  laid  ; 
Thy  hands  the  beauteous  arch  of  heav'n 

With  wond'rous  skill  have  made. 

And  "  these  shall  wax  old  as  a  garment ;  as 
a  vesture  shalt  thou  change  them,  and  they  shall 
be  changed  :"  but  shouldst  thou,  like  these,  de- 
cay, where  were  the  hopes  of  them  that  confide 
in  thee  ?  If  in  all  generations  thy  perfections 
were  not  the  same,  what  consolation  could  the 
race  of  men  draw  from  the  ancient  records  of 
thy  wonderful  works  ?  Why  are  we  told,  "  thou 
didst  divide  the  sea,  to  make  a  path  for  thy  peo- 
ple through  the  mightv  waters  ?  that  thou  didst 
rain  brf^ad  from  heaven^  and  dissolve  the  flinty 
rock  in  crvstal  rills  to  give  thy  chosen  nation 
drink  r" 

Thou  art  he  that  distinguished  Noah  in  the 
universal  deluge,  and  preserved  the  floating  ark 
amidst  winds,  and  rains,  and  tumultuous  billows. 

'Twas  thy  protecting  care  that  led  Abraham 
from  his  kindred  and  his  native  countr}',  and 
brought  him  safely  to  the  promised  land. 


©F  THE  HEART.  14§ 

Thou  didst  accompany  Jacob  in  his  journey  to 
Padcnaram,  and  gave  him  bread  to  eat,  and  rai- 
ment to  put  on,  till  greatly  increased  in  substance, 
he  returned  to  his  father's  house:  he  wrestled  for 
a  blessing  ;  he  wrestled  with  the  Almighty  and 
prevailed. 

With  Joseph  thou  v/entest  down  into  Egypt, 
and  didst  deliver  him  out  of  ail  his  adversities, 
till  he  forgot  his  sorrovv  s,  and  all  the  toil  of  his 
father's  house,   . 

Thou  didst  remember  thy  people  in  the  Egyp- 
tian bondage,  and  looked  with  pitying  eyes  on 
their  afiliction  ;  and,  after  four  hundred  and 
thirty  years,  on  the  very  day  thou  hadst  promis- 
ed, didst  release  and  bring  them  out  with  tri- 
umph and  miracles.  Thy  presence  went  with 
them  in  a  pillar  of  a  cloud  by  day,  and  a  protect- 
ing fire  by  night:  thy  conquering  hand  drove  out 
great  and  potent  nations,  and  gave  them  entire 
possession  of  the  land  promised  to  their  fathers; 
nor  didst  thou  fail  in  the  least  circumstance  of  all 
the  good  things  thou  hadst  promised. 

What  a  cloud  of  witnesses  stand  on  record  ! 
Joshua  and  Gideon,  Jeptha  and  Samson,  who, 
through  f?ith,  obtained  promises. 

Thou  didst  command  the  ravens  to  feed  thy 
holy  prophet;  and  at  the  word  of  a  prophet  didst 
sustain  the  widow's  family  with  a  handful  of 
menl. 

1  hou  didst  walk  with  the  three  Plebrevrs  in  the 
fiery  furnace  ;  thou  wast  present  with  Daniel  in 
the  lion's  den  to  deliver  him,  because  he  trusted 
in  thee. 

In  what  instance  has  the  praver  of  faith  been 
rejected?  where  were  the  righteous  forsaken? 
who  can  charge  God  without  charging  him  fool- 

N  2 


15§  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

ishly?  what  injustice  has  been  found  in  the  judge 
of  all  the  earth  ?  his  glorious  titles  have  stood 
unblemished  from  generation  to  generation,  nor 
can  any  of  his  perfections  decay,  or  rolling  years 
make  a  change  in  the  Ancient  of  Days. 

Are  not  his  words  clear  and  distinct,  without 
a  double  meaning,  or  the  least  deceit?  are  they 
not  such  as  may  justly  secure  my  confidence  ? 
such  as  would  satisfy  me  from  the  mouth  of  man, 
inconstant  man,  whose  breath  is  in  his  nostrils, 
and  his  foundation  in  the  dust ;  unstable  as  wa- 
ter, and  fleeting  as  a  shadow  ?  And  can  I  so 
slowly  assent  to  the  words  of  the  Most  High? 
Shall  I  trust  impotent  man,  that  has  neither  wis- 
dom nor  might  to  accomplish  his  designs  ;  that 
cannot  call  the  next  breath  or  motion  his  own, 
nor  promise  himself  a  moment  in  all  futurity  ? 
Can  1  rest  on  these  feeble  props,  and  yet  tremble 
and  despond  when  I  have  the  veracity  of  the 
eternal  God  to  secure  and  support  me? 

I  know  he  will  not  break  his  covenant,  nor 
suffer  his  faithfulness  to  fail :  I  dare  attest  it  in 
the  face  of  earth  and  hell :  I  dare  stake  my  all 
for  time  and  eternity  on  this  glorious  truth  :  a 
truth  which  hell  cannot  blemish,  nor  all  its  ma- 
lice contradict. 

Exert  yourselves,  ye  powers  of  darkness,  bring 
in  vour  evidence,  collect  your  instances,  begin 
from  the  first  generations  :  since  the  world  was 
peopled,  and  men  began  to  call  on  the  name  of 
the  Lord,  when  did  they  call  in  vain?  when  did 
the  Holy  One  of  Israel  fail  the  expectation  of 
the  humble  and  contrite  spirit !  Point  out  in  your 
blackest  characters  the  dismal  period  when  the 
name  of  the  Lord  was  no  more  a  refuge  to  them 
that  trusted  in  him !    Let  the  annals  of  hell  be 


OF  THE  HEART.  15l 

produced,  let  them  mark  the  dreadful  day,  and 
distinguish  it  with  eternal  triumphs. 

In  vain  \ou  search;  for  neither  heaven,  nor 
earth,  nor  hell,  have  ever  been  witness  to  the 
least  deviation  from  truth  or  justice:  the  Al- 
mighty shines  with  unblemished  glory,  to  the 
-confusion  of  hell,  and  the  consolation  of  those 
that  put  their  trust  in  him. 

On  thy  eternal  truth  and  honour  I  entirely  cast 
myself:  if  1  am  deceived,  angels  and  archangels 
are  deluded  too;  they, like  me,havcnodependcince 
beyond  the  divine  veracity  for  their  blessedness 
and  immortality,  4hey  hang  all  their  hopes  on  his 
goodness  and  immutability  ;  if  that  fails,  the  ce- 
lestial paradise  vanishes,  and  all  its  glories  are 
extinct;  the  golden  palaces  sink,  and  the  seraphic 
thrones  must  totter  and  fall.  Where  are  your 
crowns,  ye  spirits  elect  ?  where  are  your  songs 
and  your  triumphs,  if  the  truth  of  God  can  fail? 
A  niere  possibil.t)  of  that  would  darken  the  fields 
of  light,  and  turn  the  voice  of  melody  into  grief 
and  lamentation.  » 

What  pangs  would  rise  even  through  all  the 
regions  of  blessedness!  what  diffidence  and  fear 
w^oulcl  sh'ike  the  heart  of  every  inhabitant!  what 
agonies  surprise  them  all,  could  the  word  of  the 
most  high  God  be  cancelled  !  The  pillurs  of  hea- 
ven might  then  tremlle,  and  the  everlasting 
niountains  bow;  the  celestial  foundations  might 
be  removed  from  their  place,  and  that  no'  lest 
structure  of  the  hands  of  God,  be  chaos  and  eter- 
nal emptiness. 

But  for  ever  '^  just  and  true  3re  thv^  w^avs,  thou 
King  of  Saints;  blessid  are  all  they  that  put 
their  trust  in  thee  ;"  for  thou  art  a  certain  refuge 
in  the  day  of  distress,  and  under  the  shadow  of 


152  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

thy  wings  I  will  n  joiccc  '^  My  soul  shall  make 
her  boast  iri  the  LorcU  and  triiumph  in  his  s^alva- 
tion  ;  1  called  on  him  in  my  distress,  and  he  has 
delivered  me  from  all  my  fears."     Hallelujah. 

Here  I  dis/riiss  my  carnal  hope, 

My  fond  desires  recal ; 
I  give  my  mortal  interest  up, 

And  make  my  God  my  alU 


XXXIV.     Glory  to   God  for  Salvation  by  Jesm 
and  his  Blood. 


LET  me  give  glory  to  God  before  I  die, 
and  take  shame  and  confusion  to  myself.  I 
ascribe  my  salvation  to  the  free  and  absolute 
goodness  of  God  ;  not  by  the  strength  of  reason, 
or  any  natural  inclination  to  virtue,  but  by  '^  the 
grace  of  God  I  am  what  I  am."  O  my  Re- 
deemer, be  the  victory,  be  the  glory  thine  !  I 
expect  eternal  life  and^  happiness  from  thee,  not 
as  a  debt,  but  a  frt#  gift,  a  promised  act  of 
bounty.  How  pof^  wotlld  my  expectations  be, 
if  I  onlv  look  to  b^  rewarded  according  to  those 
works  which  my  own  vanity,  or  the  partialit}  of 
others,  have  called  g&od,  and  which,  if  examined 
bv  the  divine  purity,  would  prove  but  specious 
sins  !  as  such  .1  renounce  them  :  pardon  them, 
gracioins  Lord,  and  I  ask  no  ?iiore  ;  nor  can  I 
hope  for  that,  but  through  the  satisfaction  v  hich 
hath  been  made  to  divine  justice  for  the  sins  of 
the  w^orld. 

O  Jesus,  my  Saviour,  what  harmony  dwells  in 
thy  name  !  celestial  joy,  immortal  life  is  in  the 
sound ! 


OF  THE  HEART.  tSB 

Sweet  name  !  in  thv  ench  syllable 
A  thousand  blessM  Arabics  dwell ; 
M:>antciiris  of  myrrh,  and  beds  of  spices, 
And  ten  thousand  paradises. 

Let  angels  set  this  name  to  their  golden  harps  ; 
let  the  redeemed  of  the  Lord  for  ever  magnif}-  it, 

O  my  propitious  Saviour !  where  were  my 
hopes  but  for  thee  ?  how  desperate,  how  undone, 
were  my  circumstances  ?  I  look  on  myself  in 
every  view  I  can  take  with  horror  and  t  ontempt. 
I  was  born  in  a  state  of  misery  and  sin,  and  in 
my  best  estate  am  altogether  vanity.  With  the 
utmost  advantages  I  can  boast,  I  shrink  back,  I 
tremble  to  appear  before  unblemished  Majesty  : 
O  thou  in  whose  name  the  Gentiles  trust,  be  my 
refuge  in  that  awful  hour.  To  thee  I  come, 
my  only  confidence  and  hope.  Let  the  blood  of 
sprinkling,  let  the  seal  of  the  covenant  be  on  me. 
Cleanse  me  from  my  original  stain,  and  mv  con- 
tracted impurity,  and  adorn  me  with,  the  robes  of 
thy  righteousness,  by  which  alone  I  expect  to 
stand  justified  before  infinite  justice  and  puritv. 

O  enter  not  into  judgment  with  me,  for  the 
best  actions  of  m^  life  Cannot  bear  thy  scrutiny; 
some  secret  blemish  has  stained  all  mv'glorv. 
My  devotion  to  God  has  been  mingled  with 
levity  and  irreverence  ;'  mv  ch  ritv  to  man  with 
pride  and  ostentation.  Some  latent  defect  has 
attended  mv  best  actions,  and  those  verv  ihings, 
which,  perhaps,  have  been  highly  esteemed  by 
men,    have  deserved  contempt  in  the  sight  of 

God. 

% 


154  DF.VOUT  EXERCISES 

VAHien  I  survey  the  wond'rous  cross 
On  whic)i  the  Prinze  cf  Glnrv  dy'd, 

My  richest  gam  I  count  mv  loss. 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride. 

Forbid  it,  Lord,  that  T  should  boast. 
Save  in  the  cross  of  Christ,  my  God-; 

All  the  vain  things  that  chnrm  me  most, 
I  sacrifice  them  to  ihy  blood. 

^}iril  30,  1735, 


XXXV.     A  Review  of  Divine  Mercy  and  Faith- 

Jhlness. 

I  AM  now  setting  to  my  seal  that  God  is 
true,  and  It- aving  this  as  my  last  testimony  to  the 
divine  veracii) .  I  c  an  from  numerous  expt^ri- 
encts  assert  his  faitHfi  Iness,  and  witness  to  the 
certainly  of  his  pr^^mises.  "  The  word  of  the 
Lord  has  been  tried,  and  he  is  a  buckler  to  all 
those  that  put  their  trust  in  him." 

*^  O  comt,  all  ye  that  fear  the  Lord,  and  I  \vill 
tell  you  what  he  has  done  for  my  soul ;  I  will 
ascribe  righteousness  to  my  Maker  "  and  leave 
my  record  for  a  people  yet  unborn,  thut  the  ge- 
neration to  come  may  rise  up  and  praise  him^ 

.Into  whatever  distress  his  wise  providence 
lias.brought  me,  I  have  called  on  th*-  Lnrd,  and 
he  hfeard  me,  and  delivered  me  irorp  ,^11  my 
fears  ;  I  trusted  in  God,  and  he  saved  me.  Oh  ! 
let  my  experience  stand  a  witness  to  diem  that 
hope  in  his  mercy  ;  let  it  be  to  the  Jford  for  a 
praise  and  a  glory. 

I  know  not  where  to  begin  the  recitarof  thy 
numerous  favours.      Ihou  hast  hid  me  in  the 


OF  THE  HEART.  155 

secret  of  thy  pavilion,  from  the  pride  of  man, 
and  from  the  strife  of  tongues,  when  by  a  thou- 
sand follies  I  have  merited  reproach  :  thou  hast 
graciously  protected  me,  when  the  vanity  of  my 
friends,  or  the  malice  of  my  enemies,  might  have 
stained  my  reputation  :  thou  hast  covered  me 
with  th}  feathers,  and  under  thy  wings  have  I 
trusted :  thy  truth  has  been  my  shield  and  my 
buckler :  to  thee  I  owe  the  blessing  of  a  clear 
and  unblemished  name,  and  not  to  my  own  con- 
duct, nor  the  partiality  of  my  friends.  Glory 
be  to  thee,  O  Lord. 

Thou  hast"  led  me  through  a  thousand  laby- 
rinths, and  enlightened  mv  darkness.  When 
shades  and  perplexity  surrounded  me,  my  light 
has  broke  forth  out  of  obscurity,  and  my  dark- 
ness been  turned  into  noon  day.  Thou  hast 
been  a  gaide  and  a  father  to  me.  When  1  knew 
not  where  to  ask  advice  thou  hast  given  me  un- 
erring counsel ;  Tht  secr^rt  cf  the  Lord  has  bten 
with  nie^  and  he  has  shenvn  me  his  covenant. 

In  how  many  seen  and  unseen  dangers  hast 
thou  delivered  me  !  how  narrow  my  gratitude  ! 
how  wide  ihy  mercy  !  ho\y  innumerable  are  thy 
thoughts  of  love  !  how  inrinite  the  instances  of 
thy  goodness !  how  high  above  the  ways  and 
thoughts  of  man  I 

How  often  hast  thou  supplied  my  wants,  and 
by  thv  bount}'  confounded  my  unbelief!  thy  be- 
nefits have  surprised  and  justlv  reproiched  my 
diffidt  nee  ;  my  faith  has  often  failed,  but  thy 
g  odness  has  never  failed.  The  world  and  all 
its  flatte^es  have  failed,  my  own  heart  and  hopes 
have  failed,  but  thy  mercy  endures  forever  ^  thy 
faithfulness  has  never  failed. 


156  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

i 

The  strength  of  Israel  has  never  deceived  mc, 
nor  made  me  ashamed  of  my  confidence.  i  hou 
hast  never  been  as  a  deceitful  brook,  or  as  waters 
that  fail,  to  my  soul. 

In  loving  kindness,  in  truth,  and  in  very  faith- 
fulness, thou  hast  afflicted  me.  Oh  !  how  un- 
willingly hast  ihou  seemed  to  grieve  me  !  with 
how  much  indulgence  has  the  punishment  been 
mixed  !  Love  has  appeared  through  the  disguise 
of  every  frown  ;  its  beams  have  glimmered 
through  the  darkest  night;  by  every  affliction 
thou  h.st  been  still  drawing  me  nearer  to  thyself, 
and  removing  my  carnal  props,  that  I  may  lean 
with  more  assurance  on  the  Eternal  Rock. 

Thy  love  has  been  my  leading  glory  from  the 
first  intricate  steps  of  life:  the  first  undesigiiing 
paths  1  trod  were  marked  and  guarded  by  the 
vigilance  of  thy  love  :  oh  !  whither  else  had  my 
sin  and  folly  led  me. 

How  often  h  ive  I  tried  and  experienced  thy 
clemency,  and  found  an  immediate  answer  to 
my  pravers?  Thou  hast  often  literally  fulfilled 
thy  w^ord  :  I  have  a  fresh  instance  of  thy  faithful- 
ness again  :  thou  hast  made  xne  triumph  in  thy 
goodness,  and  given  a  new  testimony  to  the  ve- 
racity of  thy  promises. 

And,  after  all,  vvhat  ingratitude,  what  insen- 
sibility, reip;ns  in  mv  heart:  Qh  !  cancel  it  by 
the  bl^od  of  the  covenant:  root  out  this  mon- 
strous infidelity  that  still  returns  after  the  fullest 
evidence  of  thv  trmh.  Thou  hast  graciously 
condescended  to  ansv/er  me  in  thy  own  time  and 
wav,  andyetl  am  again  doubting  thy  faithfulness 
and  care.  Lord^  piiy  me.  I  hclieve  ;  0  help  my  un- 
helhf*  Go  on  to  succour,  go  on  to  pardon,  and 
at   last  conquer  my  diffidence.      Let  me  hope 


OF  THE  HEART.  1^7 

against  hope,  and  in  the  greatest  perplexity  givQ 
glory  to  God,  by  believing  what  my  own  experi- 
ence has  so  often  found,  ''  'I'hat  the  strength  of 
Israel  will  not  lie  ;  nor  is  he  as  man,  that  he 
should  repent," 

While  I  have  memory  and  thought,  let  his 
goodness  dwell  on  my  soul.  Let  me  not  forget 
the  depth  of  my  distress,  the  anguish  and  im- 
portunity of  my  vows:  when  every  human  help 
failed,  and  all  was  darkness  and  perplexity,  then 
God  was  all  my  stay.  Then  I  knew  no  name 
but  his,  and  he  alone  knew  my  soul  in  adversity. 
Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  forget  not  all 
his  benefits. 

Long  as  I  live,  I'll  bless  thy  name, 

My  King,  and  God  of  love ; 
My  work,  and  joy  shall  be  the  same 

In  the  bright  worlds  above. 

I  have  yet  a  thousand  and  ten  thousand  dt^li- 
verances  to  recount^  ten  thousand  unasked  for 
mercies  to  recal  !  no  moment  of  my  life  has 
been  destitute  of  thy  care ;  no  accident  has  found 
ine  unguarded  by  thy  watchful  eye,  or  neglected 
by  thy  providence.  Thou  hast  been  often  found 
unsought  by  my  ungr':iteful  heart,  and  thy  fa- 
vours have  surprised  me  with  great  and  unex- 
pected advantages  :  thou  hasc  compelled  me  to 
receive  the  blessings  my  foolish  humour  despised, 
and  my  corrupt  will  would  fain  have  rejected. 
Thou  hast  stopped  thy  ears  to  the  desires  which 
would  have  ruined  and  undone  me,  when  I  might 
justly  have  been  left  to  my  own  choice,  for  the 
punishment  of  my  many  sins  and  follies.  How 
great  my  guilt  !  how  infinite  thy  mercy. 

o 


158  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

Hitherto  God  has  helped,  and  here  I  set  up  a 
memorial  to  that  goodness  which  has  never 
abandoned  me  to  the  malice  and  stratagems  of 
my  infernal  foes,  nor  left  me  a  prey  to  human  craft 
or  violence.  The  glory  of  his  providence  has 
often  surprised  me,  when  groping  in  thick  dark- 
ness. With  a  potent  voice  he  has  said,  ^^  Let 
there  be  light,  and  there  was  light."  He  has 
made  his  goodness  pass  before  me,  and  loudly 
proclaimed  his  name,  "The  Lord,  the  Lord  God, 
merciful  and  gracious  j"  to  him  be  glory  for 
ever.     Amen. 


XXXVI.  Some  dally  Experiences  of  the  gracious 
Methods  oj  Divine  Pro^ideiiCe^  tome^  the  least 
and  most  unworthy  of  all  the  Servants  of  my 
Lord* 

FIRST  WEEK.* 

I.  EVERY  day'^s  experience  reproaches  mj 
unbeli-jf,  and  brn:igs  me  some  new  evidence  of 
thy  faithfulness.  Thou  hast  dispelled  my  fears, 
and,  to  the  confusion  of  my  spiritual  foes,  thou 
hast  lieard  the  voice  of  my  distress.  But  a  f  w 
hours  ago  I  was  trembling,  and  doubting  if  thoii 
wast  indeed  a  God  hearing  my  prayer  ;  and  now 
I  have  a  fresh  instance  of  thy  goodness,  which,. 
with  a  grateful  heart,  I  here  record.  May  the 
iense  of  thy  bent- fits  dwell  for  ever  on  my  soul. 

II.    Thv   mercies    are   new   every   morning  ; 
again  thou  hast  given  me  an  instance  of  thy  truth, 

*  The  division  of  thepe  meditttloDS  into  sevens,  by  the 
pious  writer,  seenis  to  tell  iis,  that  these  were  the  devout 
tjiou^hts  of  six  weeks  of  her  iife. 


OF  THE  HEART,  13B 

"  I  trusted  in  God,  and  he  has  delivered  me  :  I 
will  love  the  Lord,  because  he  has  heard  the 
voice  of  my  supplication  ;  therefore  will  1  call  on 
him  as  long  as  1  live." 

III.  '^  As  for  God,  his  way  is  perfect;  the 
word  of  the  Lord  is  tried  :  he  is  a  buckler  to  all 
that  put  their  trust  in  him."  He  has  punctually 
fui tilled  the  word  on  which  I  relied  :  bless  the 
Lord,   O  my  souL 

IV.  Thy  bounty  follows  me  with  an  unweari- 
ed course  ;  language  is  too  faint  to  express  thy 
praise  :  no  eloqumce  can  reach  the  subject.  My 
heart  is  warm  with  the  |)ious  reflection  ;  1  look 
upward,  and  silently  Ijreatheout  the  unutterable 
gratitude  that  melts  and  rejoices  my  soul  :  I 
staggered  at  thy  promise  through  unbelief,  and 
yet  ihou  hast  gi-acioasiy  performed  thy  wordsl 
If  we  sometimes  doubt  or  faulter  in  our  faith, 
yet  he  ai)ideth  fi;i  liful  who  has  promised. 

V.  With  the  inorning  light  my  health  and 
peace  are  renewed  :  the  cheering  influence  of 
the  sun,  and  the  sweeter  beams  of  the  divine 
favour,  shine  on  my  tabernack.  Lord,  v/hy 
me  ?  why  am  I  a  ransomed,  pardoned  sinner  ? 
why  am  1  rejoi-  ing  among  the  instances  of  sove-» 
reign  grace  and  unlimited  clemency .? 

VI.  I  boasted  in  thy  truth,  and  thou  hast  not 
made  me  ashamed  :  my  infernal  foes  are  con- 
founded, while  my  faith  is  crowned  with  success. 

Oh  1   who  hath  tasted  of  thy  clemencv 
In  greater  measure,  or  more  oft,  than  I  ? 

VII.  As  the  week  begun,  so  it  ends  with  a 
series' of  mercy;  language  and  numbers  fail  to 


160  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

reckon  thy  favours,  but  this  shall  be  my  eternal 
employment. 

Where  nature  fails,  the  day  and  night 

Divide  thy  works  no  more, 
My  ever  thankful  soul,  O  Lord, 

Thy  goodness  shall  adore. 


SECOND  WEEK. 

I.  I  HAVE  seen  the  goings  of  God  my 
King  in  his  sanctuary :  but  O  how  transient  the 
view !  My  sins  turned  back  thy  clemency,  and 
yet  I  can  celebrate  the  wonders  of  forgiving 
grace. 

II.  Wl|at  do  I  owe  thee,  O  thou  great  Pre- 
server of  men,  for  easy  and  peaceful  sleep,  for 
nights  unmolested  with  pain  and  anxiety. 

Thou  round  my  bed  a  gruard  dost  keep  ; 
Thine  eyes  are  open  while  I  sleep. 

Not  a  moment  slides  in  which  I  am  unguarded 
by  thv  gracious  protection. 

III.  Thanks  be  to  God,  who  has  given  me 
the  victory  through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Thou 
didst  deliver  me  from,  the  snare  of  the  fowler, 
the  craft  and  malice  of  hell,  and  kept  me  back 
from  sinning  agairst  thee  ;  be  thine  the  victory 
and  praise,      Hallelnjak. 

IV.  '^  O  Lord  God  of  Israel,  happy  is  the 
man  that  putteth  his  trust  in  thee."  I  left  my 
burden  at  thy  feet,  and  thou  hast  sustained  me  ; 
my  cares  are  dissipated,  my  desires  are  answer- 
ed. "  Oh  !  who  is  a  Godlike  unto  thee,  near  un- 
to all  that  call  on  thee  ?" 


OF  THE  HEART.  IGl 

V.  Thy  strength  is  manifest  in  weakness  ; 
^*  Not  unto  me,  Q  Lord,  but  to  thee,  be  all  the 
glory." 

For  ever  thy  dear  charming  name 

Shall  dwell  upon  my  tongue, 
And  Jesus  and  salvation  be 

The  theme  of  every  song. 

This  shall  be  my  employment  through  an 
eternal  duration  :  'tis  that  alone  can  measure  my 
gratitude.  The  Lord  Jehovah  is  my  strength 
and  salvation,  he  also  shall  be  my  song, 

VL  Every  day's  experience  confirms  my 
faith,  and  brings  a  fresh  evidence  of  thy  good- 
ness. Thou  hast  dispelled  my  fears,  and,  to  the 
confusion  of  my  spiritua.1  foes,  hearkened  to  the 
voice  of  my  dLstress. 

VII.  I  will  love  the  Lord,  who  has  heard  my 
supplications.  I  made  my  boast  in  his  faithful- 
ness, and  he  has  answered  all  my  expectations. 


THIRD  V/EEK. 

L  MY  last  exigence  will  be  the  closing  part 
of  mv  life.  Oh!  remember  me  then,  mvGod*  Thou 
who  hast  led  me  hitherto,  forsake  me  not  at  lajt. 
Be  my  strength  when  nature  fails,  and  the  flame 
of  life  is  just  expiring  ;  let  thy  smiles  cheer  my 
gloomv  hour  !  oh  !  then  let  thv  gentle  voice  whis- 
per peace  and  ineffable  consolation  to  my  soul 

IL  In  six  and  seven  troubles  thou  hast  deli- 
vered me,  ^  and  been  a  covert  from  the  tempest, 
a  hiding  place  from  the  wind.'  Hitherto  God 
his  h.iped,  and  I  have  dwelt  secure  ;  and  here 
I  leave  a  memorial  to  thy  praise,  a  witness  against 


'im  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

all   my  future  distrust  of  thy  faithfulness  and 
truth. 

III.  Every  day  of  mv  life  increases  the  sum 
of  thy  mercirs  :  tht^  rising  and  die  setting  sun, 
in  its  constant  revolution,  can  witness  the  renew- 
al of  thy  favours.  I  hou  wast  graciouslv  present 
in  an  imminent  danger  ;  by  thee  my  bones  have 
been  kept  entire,  and  thou  hast  not  suffered  me 
to  dash  my  feet  against  a  stone, 

IV.  *-*•  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  all 
that  is  within  me  bless  his  holy  name.  Bless  the 
Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  forget  not  ail  his  bt- nefits  ; 
who  heals  thy  diseases,  and  pardons  all  thy  sins." 
O  thou,  the  great  Physician  of  my  body,  as  well 
as  of  my  distempered  soul,  thou  hast  restored 
and  saved  me  from  death  and  hell.  Blessed  Je- 
sus, thou  hast  '^  taken  my  infirmities,  and  borne 
my  sicknesses  ;  the  chastisement  of  my  peace 
was  upon  thee,  and  by  thy  stripes  I  am  healed." 

V.  I  subscribe  to  thy  truth,  O  Lord  ;  I  at- 
test it  in  contradiction  to  infernal  malice,  to  all 
the  hellish  suggestions  that  would  tempt  my 
heart  to  diffidence  and  unbelief,  even  agiinst  re- 
peated experience,  against  the  fullest  evidences 
of  the  divine  veracity. 

VL  Oh !  thou  who  never  slumberest,  nor 
sleepest,  this  night  thy  watchful  care  has  kept 
me  from  a  threatening  danger  ;  thy  eyes  were 
open  while  I  was  sleeping,  secure  beneath  the 
covert  of  thy  wings. 

VIL  Another,  and  a  greater  deliverance  has 
crowned  the  day  ;  I  have  found  thy  grace  suffi- 
cient in  an  hour  of  temptation,  thv  strength  has 
been  manifest  in  mv  weakness.  Thine  was  the 
conquest,  be  the  crown  and  glory  thine  for 
ever.     By  thee  I  have  tirumphed  over  the  strata- 


OF  THE  HEART.  101' 

gemft  of  hell;  ''  not  unto  me,  but  to  thy  name 
be  the  praise,  O  Lord." 


FOURTH  WEEK. 

I.  'TIS  not  one  of  a  thousand  of  thyfavours 
I  can  record  ;  but  eternity  is  before  me,  an  J  th^.t 
unlim  ted  duration  shall  be-  empiox  ed  to  rct- 
hearse  the  wonders  of  thy  grace.  Then  in  ihe 
great  assembly  I  will  praise  thee,  I  will  de-  -a-fe 
thy  faithfulness,  and  tell  to  listening  a ng- Is  what 
thou  hast  done  for  mv  soul,  even  tor  me,  ihe 
least  in  the  familv,  unworthy  to  wipe  the  feet  of 
the  meanest  of  the  servants  of  the  Lord. 

IL  How  numberless  are  thy  thoiights  of  love 
to  mv  soul  ;  if  [  should  count  them,  they  are 
more  than  the  sand  on  the  shore.  Thou  hast 
again  reproved  my  unbelief,  and  given  me  a  new 
conviction  that  my  whole  dependance  is  on  thee? 
that  second  causes  are  nothing,  but  as  thou  dost 
give  them  efficacy  ;  all  r.ature  obeys  thee,  and 
is  governed  at  thv  command. 

in.  O  mv  God,  I  am  again  ready  to  distrust 
thee,  and  call  in  question  thy  faithfulness.  Oh! 
how  deep  has  the  cursed  weed  of  infidelity  root- 
ed itself  in  my  nature !  but  thou  canst  root  it 
out. 

IV.  Again  I  must  begin  the  rehearsal  of  thy 
mercies,  which  will  never  have  an  end  ;  for  thou 
dost  renew  the  instances  of  thy  goodness  to  a 
poor  ungrateful  sinner.  Thou  hast  punctually 
fulfilled  the  promise  on  which  I  depended  ;  thou 
hast  granted  the  request  of  my  lips,  and  led  me 
in  a  plain  way,  that  I  have  not  stumbled. 


164  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

V.  This  day  I  have  received  an  unexpected 
favour.  I  doubted  the  success  indeed,  but  thoii 
hast  gently  rebuked  my  unbelief,  and  convinced 
me  that  all  things  are  possible  vvith  thee,  and  that 
the  hearts  of  the  children  of  men  are  in  thy 
hands. 

VI.  Whether  thou  dost  favour  or  aiRict  me,  I 
rejoice  in  the  glory  of  thy  attributes,  in  what- 
ever instance  they  are  displayed.  Be  thy  honour 
advanced,  whether  in  mercy  or  in  justice.  I 
mast  still  assert  the  equity  of  thy  ways,  and  as- 
tribe  righteousness  to  my  Maker.  Yet  let  me 
plead  with  thee,  O  my  God.  Since  mercy  is 
thy  darling  attribute,  oh!  let  it  now  be  exalted: 
deal  not  with  me  in  severity,  but  indulgence; 
for  if  thou  shouldst  mark  Vvhat  is  amiss,  who 
can  stand  before  thee  ? 

VII.  Thoti  dost  heal  my  diseases  and  renew 
my  life  ;  thou  art  the  guardian  of  mv  sleeping 
and  my  waking  hoars.  Glory  to  my  God,  whose 
eyes  never  slumber. 


.      FIFTH  WEEK. 

L  THOU  knowest  my  secret  grief,  where 
mv  pain  lies,  and  what  are  my  doubts  and  diffi- 
culties. In  thy  wonted  clemeiTcy,  O  Lord,  dis- 
pel my  darkness;  leave  me  not  to  any  fatal 
delusion  in  an  affair  of  everlasting  momt-nt. 
This  is  mv  hoar  of  information  and  practice; 
bevond  the  grave  no  mistake  can  be  rectified  ; 
as  the  tree  falls,  so  it  m-ist  for  ever  lie. 

II.  Thy  goodness  still  pursues  me,  O  heavenly 
Father,  with  ^n  un'wearied  course  j  new  in- 
stances of  thy  faithfulness  reproach  my  unbelief. 


OF  THE  HEART.  165" 

I  sent  up  my  petition  with  a  doubting  heart,  and 
yet  thou  hast  graciously  deigned  to  encourage 
my  weak  and  staggering  faich,  which  h;is  ort'cn 
wavered  and  failed,  even  in  the  view  of  the 
brightest  evidence  of  thy  powi^r  and  truth. 

ili.  Thou  dost  seem  I'esolved  to  Icavt^  my 
unbelief  without  excuse,  by  renewing  the  gK'  ri- 
ous  conviction  of  thy  clemency  and  truth..  O 
let  not  the  imworthiness  of  the  object  turn  back 
thy  benignity  from  its  natural  course. 

IV.  How  many  unrecorded  mrcies  have 
glided  along  with  my  fleeting  moments  into 
thoughtless  silence,  and  long  oblivion  !  How 
prone  is  my^  ungrateful  heart  to  forget  thy  bei?"- 
fits,  or  (oh  !  amazing  guilt)  to  make  an  ungrate- 
ful return! 

V.  Oh  !  never  let  my  false  heart  relapse  into 
distrust  and  unbelief  again  !  Thou  hast  rebuked 
my  ioUy,  and  put  a  new  song  of  prais^e  into  my 
m:iuth :  let  those  infernal  suggestions  vanish 
that  would  once  object  against  thy  oft-experienc- 
ed truth.  In  this  I  would  still  triumph,  ancl 
insult  all  the  malice  of  hell.  A  time  will  come 
when  thou  shalt  he  glorified  In  thy  saints,  when 
thy  truth  and  faithfulness  shall  appear  in  full 
splendour,  when  the  beauty  of  thine  attributes 
shall  be  conspicuous  and  clear  from  every  blemish 
that  the  impiety  of  men,  or  the  mali  e  of  devils, 
have  charged  on  thy  most  righteous  providence. 

VI.  Let  me  still  assert  that  the  ways  of  God 
are  perfect  justice  and  truth  :  I  have  a  fresh  in-!- 
stance  of  thy  goodness  to  boast,  and  yet  my  un- 
grateful heart  is  even  now  ready  to  distrust. 
The  Lord  tn crease  my  faith  :  let  thy  renewed 
favours  silence  my  unbelief,  ''  to  shew  that  the 
Lord  is  upright ;  he  is  my  Rock,  and  there  is 
no  unrighteousness  in  him." 


i€6  DEVOUT  EXERCISES 

VII.  Teach  me  your  language,  ye  ministers 
of  light,  that  I  may  express  my  wonder  and 
gratitude.  O  thou,  who  canst  explain  the  secret 
meaning  of  my  soul,  take  the  praise  tha^human 
words  cannot  express  :  accept  those  unutterable 
attempts  to  praise  thee. 


SIXTH  WEEK. 

L  LET  me  go  on,  O  most  holy,  to  record 
thy  faithfulness  and  truth  ;  let  it  he  engraven  in 
the  rock  ior  ever  ;  let  ii  be  impressed  on  my  oul, 
anci  impobsi!)le  to  be  effaced.  What  artifice  of 
hell  is  i  I  that  so  often  tempts  me  to  distrust  thee, 
aj  d  joins  with  my  native  depravity  to  ques- 
tion thy  truth  ? 

II.  Oh  !  may  I  never  forget  this  remarkable 
preservation;  thy  g.  ntle  hand  supporttd  me, 
and  underneath  were  the  everlasting  arms. 
"  1  hou  hast  kept  all  my  bones,  not  one  of  them 
is  broken  ;"  thy  n>ercy  upheld  me  even  when  it 
foresaw  my  insensibility  ar.d  ingratitude.  How 
does  my  guilt  heighten  thy  clemenc)  !  How 
wonderous  is  th\  patience,  O  Lord,  and  thy 
rich  grace,  that  only  gtntly  rebuked  mc,  when 
thou  mightest  have  taken  severe  vengeance  on 
my  sins  ! 

III.  Again  I  must  begin  the  rehearsal  of  thy 
love.  Thou  hast  eased  my  pain,  scattered  my 
fears,  and  lengthened  out  my  days.  Oh  !  may 
piy  being  he  devoted  to  thee  ;  let  it  be  for  some 
remarkable  service  that  I  am  restored  to  health 
again. 

IV.  I  find  thy  mercies  renewed  with  my  fleet- 
ing days,  and  CO  rehearse  them  shall  be  my  glad 


GF  THE  HEART.  ICf 

employment ;  I  trusted  thee  with  my  little  affairs^ 
and  chou  h  .st  condescended  to  give  me  success. 
Lord,  what  is  man,  that  thou  thus  graciously 
regardest  him  ?  Even  m}  sins,  my  hourl)  provo- 
cations, cannot  put  a  check  to  the  course  ot  thy 
beneficence  ;  it  keeps  on  its  conquering  way 
against  all  the  oppositions  of  my  ingratitude  and 
unbelief ;  and  hast  thou  not  promised,  O  Lord^ 
it  shall  run  parallel  with  my  life,  and  ftiv^asure 
out  my  days  ? 

V.  Jesus,  my  never  failing  trust,  I  called  on 
thy  name,  and  thou  hast  iully  answered  my 
hopes  ;  let  thy  praises  dwell  on  my  tongue,  let 
me  breathe  thv  name  to  the  last  spark  of  life. 
Thou  hast  scattered  my  fears,  and  been  gracious 
beyond  all  my  hop.  s  ;  my  faint  and  doubting 
prayers  have  not  been  rejected ;  but,  oh  !  how 
slow  are  my  returns  of  praise,  how  backward 
my  acknowledgments  ! 

VI.  Never  have  I  trusted  tliee  in  vain;  Lord, 
increase  my  faith  ;  confirm  it  by  a  continued 
series  of  thy  bounty  ;  add  this  favour  to  the  rest ; 
for  faith  is  the  gift  of  God,  an  attainment  above 
reason  or  natar^.  I  am  now  waiting  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  a  promise  !  O  shew^  me  thy 
mercy  and  truth  ;  add  this  one  instance  to  the 
rest,  and  for  ever  silence  the  suggestions  of  hell, 
and  my  own  infidelity. 

Vn.  How  rooted  is  this  cursed  principle  of 
unbelief,  that  can  yet  distrust  thee  after  so  ma- 
ny recorded  instances  of  thy  love  !  how  long 
will  it  be  ere  my  wavering  soul  shall  entirely 
confide  in  thy  salivation?  Oh!  mv  God,  pity 
my  weakness,  give  new  vigour  to  my  faith,  and 
let  me  take  up  my  rest  in  the^  for  even 

3'h£  END* 


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